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SAN  DIEGO 


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ATLANTIDA 


(UAtlantide) 


BY 

PIERRE    BENOIT 

TRANSLATED  BY 

MARY  C.  TONGUE 
AND   MARY   ROSS 


NEW   YORK 

DUFFIELD    AND    COMPANY 

1020 


Copyright,  1920.  by 
DUFFIELD   AND   COMPANY 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

Preface 3 

I  A  Southern  Assignment 9 

II  Captain  de  Saint-Avit 26 

III  The  Morhange-Saint-Avit   Mission      .      .  43 

IV  Towards  Latitude  25 54 

V  The  Inscription 70 

VI  The  Disaster  of  the  Lettuce     ....  84 

VII  The  Country  of  Fear 98 

VIII  Awakening  At  Ahaggar 113 

IX  Atlantis 130 

X  The  Red  Marble  Hall 146 

XI  Antinea 161 

XII  Morhange   Disappears 176 

XIII  The  Hetman  of  Jitomir's  Story     .      .      .192 

XIV  Hours  Of  Waiting 212 

XV  The  Lament  Of  Tanit-Zerga      ....  225 

XVI  The  Silver  Hammer 239 

XVII  The  Maidens  of  the  Rocks       .      .      .      .253 

XVIII  The  Fire-Flies 266 

XIX  The  Tanezruft 281 

XX  The  Circle  Is  Complete 296 


ATLANTIDA 


ATLANTIDA 

Hassi-Inifel,  November  8,  1903. 

If  the  following  pages  are  ever  to  see  the  light 
of  day  it  will  be  because  they  have  been  stolen  from 
me.  The  delay  that  I  exact  before  they  shall  be 
disclosed  assures  me  of  that.^ 

As  to  this  disclosure,  let  no  one  distrust  my  aim 
when  I  prepare  for  it,  when  I  insist  upon  it.  You 
may  believe  me  when  I  maintain  that  no  pride  of 
authorship  binds  me  to  these  pages.  Already  I  am 
too  far  removed  from  all  such  things.  Only  it  is 
useless  that  others  should  enter  upon  the  path  from 
which  I  shall  not  return. 

Four  o'clock  in  the  morning.  Soon  the  sun  will 
kindle  the  hamada  with  its  pink  fire.  All  about  me 
the  bordj  is  asleep.     Through  the  half-open  door  of 

1  This  letter,  together  with  the  manuscript  which  accom- 
panies it,  the  latter  in  a  separate  sealed  envelope,  was  en- 
trusted by  Lieutenant  Ferrieres.  of  the  3rd  Spahis,  the  day 
of  the  departure  of  that  officer  for  the  Tassili  of  the  Tuareg 
(Central  Sahara),  to  Sergeant  Chatelain.  The  sergeant  was 
instructed  to  deliver  it.  on  his  next  leave,  to  M.  Leroux, 
Honorary  Counsel  at  the  Court  of  Appeals  at  Riom,  and 
Lieutenant  Ferrieres'  nearest  relative.  As  this  magistrate 
died  suddenly  before  the  expiration  of  the  term  of  ten  years 
set  for  the  publication  of  the  manuscript  here  presented, 
difficulties  arose  which  have  delayed  its  publication  up  to 
the  present  date. 

3 


4  ATLANTIDA 

his  room  I  hear  Andre  de  Saint-Avit  breathing 
quietly,  very  quietly. 

In  two  days  we  shall  start,  he  and  I.  We  shall 
leave  the  bordj.  We  shall  penetrate  far  down  there 
to  the  South.    The  official  orders  came  this  morning. 

Now,  even  if  I  wished  to  withdraw,  it  is  too  late. 
Andre  and  I  asked  for  this  mission.  The  authoriza- 
tion that  I  sought,  together  with  him,  has  at  this 
moment  become  an  order.  The  hierarchic  channels 
cleared,  the  pressure  brought  to  bear  at  the  Minis- 
try;— and  then  to  be  afraid,  to  recoil  before  this 
adventure !  .  .  . 

To  be  afraid,  I  said.  I  know  that  I  am  not 
afraid !  One  night  in  the  Gurara,  when  I  found  two 
of  my  sentinels  slaughtered,  with  the  shameful  cross 
cut  of  the  Berbers  slashed  across  their  stomachs, — 
then  I  was  afraid.  I  know  what  fear  Is.  Just  so 
now,  when  I  gazed  into  the  black  depths,  whence 
suddenly  all  at  once  the  great  red  sun  will  rise,  I 
know  that  it  is  not  with  fear  that  I  tremble.  I  feel 
surging  within  me  the  sacred  horror  of  this  mystery, 
and  its  irresistible  attraction. 

Delirious  dreams,  perhaps.  The  mad  imaginings 
of  a  brain  surcharged,  and  an  eye  distraught  by  mir- 
ages. The  day  will  come,  doubtless,  when  I  shall 
reread  these  pages  with  an  indulgent  smile,  as  a  man 
of  fifty  is  accustomed  to  smile  when  he  rereads  old 
letters. 

Delirious  dreams.     Mad  imaginings.     But  these 


INTRODUCTORY     LETTER       5 

dreams,  these  imaginings,  arc  dear  to  me.  "Cap- 
tain de  Saint-Avit  and  Lieutenant  Ferricres,"  reads 
the  official  dispatch,  "will  proceed  to  Tassili  to  de- 
termine the  statigraphic  relation  of  Albien  sand- 
stone and  carboniferous  limestone.  They  will,  in 
addition,  profit  by  any  opportunities  of  determining 
the  possible  change  of  attitude  of  the  Axdjers 
towards  our  penetration,  etc."  If  the  journey  should 
indeed  have  to  do  only  with  such  poor  things  I  think 
that  I  should  never  undertake  it. 

So  I  am  longing  for  what  I  dread.  I  shall  be 
dejected  if  I  do  not  find  myself  in  the  presence  of 
what  makes  me  strangely  fearful. 

In  the  depths  of  the  valley  of  Wadi  Mia  a  jackal 
is  barking.  Now  and  again,  when  a  beam  of  moon- 
light breaks  in  a  silver  patch  through  the  hollows 
of  the  heat-swollen  clouds,  making  him  think  he  sees 
the  young  sun,  a  turtle  dove  moans  among  the  palm 
trees. 

I  hear  a  step  outside.  I  lean  out  of  the  window.  A 
shade  clad  in  luminous  black  stuff  glides  over  the 
hard-packed  earth  of  the  terrace  of  the  fortification. 
A  light  shines  in  the  electric  blackness.  A  man  has 
just  lighted  a  cigarette.  He  crouches,  facing  south- 
wards.    He  is  smoking. 

It  is  Cegheir-ben-Cheikh,  our  Targa  guide,  the 
man  who  in  three  days  is  to  lead  us  across  the  un- 
known plateaus  of  the  mysterious  Imoschaoch,  across 
the  hamadas  of  black  stones,  the  great  dried  oases. 


6  ATLANTIDA 

the  stretches  of  silver  salt,  the  tawny  hillocks,  the 
flat  gold  dunes  that  are  crested  over,  when 
the  "alize"  blows,  with  a  shimmering  haze  of  pale 
sand. 

Cegheir-ben-Cheikh !  He  is  the  man.  There  re- 
curs to  my  mind  Duveyrier's  tragic  phrase,  "At  the 
very  moment  the  Colonel  was  putting  his  foot  In  the 
stirrup  he  was  felled  by  a  sabre  blow."^  Cegheir- 
ben-Cheikh  !  There  he  is,  peacefully  smoking 
his  cigarette,  a  cigarette  from  the  package  that  I  gave 
him.  .  .  .  May  the  Lord  forgive  me  for 
it. 

The  lamp  casts  a  yellow  light  on  the  paper. 
Strange  fate,  which,  I  never  knew  exactly  why,  de- 
cided one  day  when  I  was  a  lad  of  sixteen  that  I 
should  prepare  myself  for  Saint  Cyr,  and  gave  me 
there  Andre  de  Saint-Avit  as  classmate.  I  might 
have  studied  law  or  medicine.  Then  I  should  be 
today  a  respectable  inhabitant  of  a  town  with  a 
church  and  running  water,  instead  of  this  cotton- 
clad  phantom,  brooding  with  an  unspeakable  anxiety 
over  this  desert  which  is  about  to  swallow  me. 

A  great  insect  has  flown  in  through  the  window. 
It  buzzes,  strikes  against  the  rough  cast,  rebounds 
against  the  globe  of  the  lamp,  and  then,  helpless,  its 
wings  singed  by  the  still  burning  candle,  drops  on 
the  white  paper. 

iH.  Duveyrier,  "The  Disaster  of  the  Flatters  Mission."  Bull. 
Geol.  Soc,  1881. 


INTRODUCTORY'     LETTER       7 

It  is  an  African  May  bug,  big,  black,  with  spots 
of  livid  gray. 

I  think  of  the  others,  its  brothers  in  France,  the 
golden-brown  May  bugs,  which  I  have  seen  on  stormy 
summer  evenings  projecting  themselves  like  little 
particles  of  the  soil  of  my  native  countryside.  It 
was  there  that  as  a  child  I  spent  my  vacations,  and 
later  on,  my  leaves.  On  my  last  leave,  through 
those  same  meadows,  there  wandered  beside  me  a 
slight  form,  wearing  a  thin  scarf,  because  of  the 
evening  air,  so  cool  back  there.  But  now  this  mem- 
ory stirs  me  so  slightly  that  I  scarcely  raise  my  eyes 
to  that  dark  corner  of  my  room  where  the  light  is 
dimly  reflected  by  the  glass  of  an  indistinct  portrait. 
I  realize  of  how  little  consequence  has  become  what 
had  seemed  at  one  time  capable  of  filling  all  my  life. 
This  plaintive  mystery  is  of  no  more  interest  to  me. 
If  the  strolling  singers  of  Rolla  came  to  murmur 
their  famous  nostalgic  airs  under  the  window  of 
this  bordj  I  know  that  I  should  not  listen  to  them, 
and  if  they  became  insistent  I  should  send  them  on 
their  way. 

What  has  been  capable  of  causing  this  metamor- 
phosis in  me?  A  story,  a  legend,  perhaps,  told,  at 
any  rate  by  one  on  whom  rests  the  direst  of  suspic- 
ions. 

Cegheir-ben-CheIkh  has  finished  his  cigarette.  I 
hear  him  returning  with  slow  steps  to  his  mat,  in 
barrack  B,  to  the  left  of  the  guard  post 


8  ATLANTIDA 

Our  departure  being  scheduled  for  the  tenth  of 
November,  the  manuscript  attached  to  this  letter 
was  begun  on  Sunday,  the  first,  and  finished  on 
Thursday,  the  fifth  of  November,  1903. 

Olivier  Ferrieres, 
Lt.  3rd  Spahis. 


CHAPTER    I 

A    SOUTHERN    ASSIGNMENT 

Sunday,  the  sixth  of  June,  1903,  broke  the  mo- 
notony of  the  life  that  we  were  leading  at  the  Post 
of  Hassi-Inifel  by  two  events  of  unequal  importance, 

the  arrival  of  a  letter  from  Mile,  de  C ,  and  the 

latest  numbers  of  the  Official  Journal  of  the  French 
Republic. 

"I  have  the  Lieutenant's  permission?"  said  Ser- 
geant Chatelain,  beginning  to  glance  through  the 
magazines  he  had  just  removed  from  their  wrap- 
pings. 

I  acquiesced  with  a  nod,  already  completely  ab- 
sorbed in  reading  Mile,  de  C 's  letter. 

"When  this  reaches  you,"  was  the  gist  of  this 
charming  being's  letter,  "mama  and  I  will  doubt- 
less have  left  Paris  for  the  country.  If,  in  your 
distant  parts,  it  might  be  a  consolation  to  Imagine 
me  as  bored  here  as  you  possibly  can  be,  make  the 
most  of  it.  The  Grand  Prix  is  over,  I  played  the 
horse  you  pointed  out  to  me,  and  naturally,  I  lost. 
Last  night  we  dined  with  the  Martials  de  la  Touche. 

9 


lo  ATLANTIDA 

Elias  Chatrlan  was  there, — always  amazingly  young. 
I  am  sending  you  his  last  book,  which  has  made 
quite  a  sensation.  It  seems  that  the  Martials  de 
la  Touche  are  depicted  there  without  disguise.  I 
will  add  to  it  Bourget's  last,  and  Lotl's,  and  France's, 
and  two  or  three  of  the  latest  music  hall  hits.  In 
the  political  word,  they  say  the  law  about  congrega- 
tions will  meet  with  strenuous  opposition.  Nothing 
much  in  the  theatres.  I  have  taken  out  a  summer 
subscription  for  I' Illustration.  Would  you  care  for 
it?  In  the  country  no  one  knows  what  to  do.  Al- 
ways the  same  lot  of  idiots  ready  for  .tennis. 
I  shall  deserve  no  credit  for  writing  to  you  often. 
Spare  me  your  reflections  concerning  young  Combe- 
male.  I  am  less  than  nothing  of  a  feminist,  having 
too  much  faith  in  those  who  tell  me  that  I  am  pretty, 
in  yourself  in  particular.  But  indeed,  I  grow  wild 
at  the  idea  that  if  I  permitted  myself  half  the  fa- 
miliarities with  one  of  our  lads  that  you  have  surely 
with  your  Ouled-Nails  .  .  .  Enough  of  that,  it  is 
too  unpleasant  an  idea." 

I  had  reached  this  point  in  the  prose  of  this  ad- 
vanced young  woman  when  a  scandalized  exclama- 
tion of  the  Sergeant  made  me  look  up. 

"Lieutenant!" 

"Yes?" 

"They  are  up  to  something  at  the  Ministry.  See 
for  yourself." 

He  handed  me  the  Official.     I  read: 


A  SOUTHERN    ASSIGNMENT  1 1 

"By  a  decision  of  the  first  of  May,  1903,  Captain 
de  Saint-Avit  (Andre),  unattached,  is  assigned  to 
the  Third  Spahis,  and  appointed  Commandant  of 
the  Post  of  Hassi-Inifel." 

Chatelain's  displeasure  became  fairly  exuberant. 

"Captain  de  Saint-Avit,  Commandant  of  the  Post. 
A  post  which  has  never  had  a  slur  upon  it.  They 
must  take  us  for  a  dumping  ground." 

My  surprise  was  as  great  as  the  Sergeant's.  But 
just  then  I  saw  the  evil,  weasel-like  face  of  Gourrut, 
the  convict  we  used  as  clerk.  He  had  stopped  his 
scrawling  and  was  listening  with  a  sly  interest. 

"Sergeant,  Captain  de  Saint-Avit  is  my  ranking 
classmate,"  I  answered  dryly. 

Chatelain  saluted,  and  left  the  room.     I  followed. 

"There,  there,"  I  said,  clapping  him  on  the 
back,  "no  hard  feelings.  Remember  that  in  an  hour 
we  are  starting  for  the  oasis.  Have  the  cartridges 
ready.  It  is  of  the  utmost  importance  to  restock 
the  larder." 

I  went  back  to  the  office  and  motioned  Gourrut 
to  go.  Left  alone,  I  finished  Mile,  de  C 's  let- 
ter very  quickly,  and  then  reread  the  decision  of  the 
Ministry  giving  the  post  a  new  chief. 

It  was  now  five  months  that  I  had  enjoyed  that 
distinction,  and  on  my  word,  I  had  accepted  the  re- 
sponsibility well  enough,  and  been  very  well  pleased 
with  the  independence.  I  can  even  affirm,  without 
taking  too  much  credit  for  myself,  that  under  my 


12  ATLANTIDA 

command  discipline  had  been  better  maintained  than 
under  Captain  Dieulivol,  Salnt-Avlt's  predecessor. 
A  brave  man,  this  Captain  Dieulivol,  a  non-commis- 
sioned officer  under  Dodds  and  Duchesne,  but  sub- 
ject to  a  terrible  propensity  for  strong  liquors,  and 
too  much  inclined,  when  he  had  drunk,  to  confuse 
his  dialects,  and  to  talk  to  a  Houassa  in  Sakalave. 
No  one  was  ever  more  sparing  of  the  post  vv'ater 
supply.  One  morning  when  he  was  preparing  his 
absinthe  in  the  presence  of  the  Sergeant,  Chatelain, 
noticing  the  Captain's  glass,  saw  with  amazement 
that  the  green  liquor  was  blanched  by  a  far  stronger 
admixture  of  water  than  usual.  He  looked  up, 
aware  that  something  abnormal  had  just  occurred. 
Rigid,  the  carafe  inverted  in  his  hand.  Captain  Dieu- 
livol was  spilling  the  water  which  was  running  over 
on  the  sugar.     He  was  dead. 

For  six  months,  since  the  disappearance  of  this 
sympathetic  old  tippler,  the  Powers  had  not  seemed 
to  interest  themselves  in  finding  his  successor.  I 
had  even  hoped  at  times  that  a  decision  might  be 
reached  investing  me  with  the  rights  that  I  was  In 
fact  exercising.  .  .  .  And  today  this  surprising  ap- 
pointment. 

Captain  de  Saint-Avlt.  He  was  of  my  class  at 
St.  Cyr.  I  had  lost  track  of  him.  Then  my  atten- 
tion had  been  attracted  to  him  by  his  rapid  advance- 
ment, his  decoration,  the  well-deserved  recognition 
of  three  particularly  daring  expeditions  of  explora- 


A  SOUTHERN    ASSIGNMENT  13 

tlon  to  TebestI  and  the  Air;  and  suddenly,  the  mys- 
terious drama  of  his  fourth  expedition,  that  famous 
mission  undertaken  with  Captain  Morhange,  from 
which  only  one  of  the  explorers  came  back.  Every- 
thing is  forgotten  quickly  in  France.  That  was  at 
least  six  years  ago.  T  had  not  heard  Saint-Avit 
mentioned  since.  I  had  even  supposed  that  he  had 
left  the  army.  And  now,  I  was  to  have  him  as  my 
chief. 

"After  all,  what's  the  difference,"  I  mused,  "he  or 
another  I  At  school  he  was  charming,  and  we  have 
had  only  the  most  pleasant  relationships.  Besides, 
I  haven't  enough  yearly  income  to  afford  the  rank  of 
Captain." 

And  I  left  the  office,  whistling  as  I  went. 

We  were  now,  Chatelain  and  I,  our  gims  resting 
on  the  already  cooling  earth,  beside  the  pool  that 
forms  the  center  of  the  meager  oasis,  hidden  behind 
a  kind  of  hedge  of  alfa.  The  setting  sun  was  red- 
dening the  stagnant  ditches  which  irrigate  the  poor 
garden  plots  of  the  sedentary  blacks. 

Not  a  word  during  the  approach.  Not  a 
word  during  the  shoot.  Chatelain  was  obviously 
sulking. 

In  silence  we  knocked  down,  one  after  the  other, 
several  of  the  miserable  doves  which  came  on  drag- 
ging wings,  heavy  with  the  heat  of  the  day,  to 
quench  their  thi-rst  at  the  thick  green  water.     When 


14  ATLANTIDA 

a  half-dozen  slaughtered  little  bodies  were  lined  up 
at  our  feet  I  put  my  hand  on  the  Sergeant's  shoulder. 

"Chatelain!" 

He  trembled. 

"Chatelain,  I  was  rude  to  you  a  little  while  ago. 
Don't  be  angry.  It  was  the  bad  time  before  the 
siesta.     The  bad  time  of  midday." 

"The  Lieutenant  is  master  here,"  he  answered  In 
a  tone  that  was  meant  to  be  gruff,  but  which  was 
only  strained. 

"Chatelain,  don't  be  angry.  You  have  something 
to  say  to  me.     You  know  what  I  mean." 

"I  don't  know  really.     No,  I  don't  know." 

"Chatelain,  Chatelain,  why  not  be  sensible?  Tell 
me  something  about  Captain  de  Saint-Avlt." 

"I  know  nothing."    He  spoke  sharply. 

"Nothing?  Then  what  were  you  saying  a  little 
while  ago?" 

"Captain  de  Saint-Avit  Is  a  brave  man."  He 
muttered  the  words  with  his  head  still  obstinately 
bent.  "He  went  alone  to  Bilma,  to  the  Air,  quite 
alone  to  those  places  where  no  one  had  ever  been. 
He  is  a  brave  man." 

"He  is  a  brave  man,  undoubtedly,"  I  answered 
with  great  restraint.  "But  he  murdered  his  com- 
panion, Captain  Morhange,  did  he  not?" 

The  old  Sergeant  trembled. 

"He  is  a  brave  man,"  he  persisted. 

"Chatelain,  you  are  a  child.    Are  you  afraid  that 


A  SOUTHERN    ASSIGNMENT  15 

I  am  going  to  repeat  what  you  say  to  your  new 
Captain?" 

I  had  touched  him  to  the  quick.  He  drew  him- 
self up. 

"Seigeant  Chatelain  is  afraid  of  no  one,  Lieu- 
tenant. He  has  been  at  Abomey,  against  the  Ama- 
zons, in  a  country  where  a  black  arm  started  out 
from  every  bush  to  seize  your  leg,  while  another  cut 
it  off  for  you  with  one  blow  of  a  cutlass." 

"Then  what  they  say,  what  you  yourself " 

"That  is  talk." 

"Talk  which  is  repeated  in  France,  Chatelain, 
everywhere." 

He  bent  his  head  still  lower  without  replying. 

"Ass,"  I  burst  out,  "will  you  speak?" 

"Lieutenant,  Lieutenant,"  he  fairly  pled,  "I  swear 
that  what  I  know,  or  nothing " 

"What  you  know  you  are  going  to  tell  me,  and 
right  away.  If  not,  I  give  you  my  word  of  honor 
that,  for  a  month,  I  shall  not  speak  to  you  except 
on  official  business." 

Hassi-Inifel :  thirty  native  Arabs  and  four  Euro- 
peans— myself,  the  Sergeant,  a  Corporal,  and  Gour- 
rut.     The  threat  was  terrible.      It  had  its  effect. 

"All  right,  then,  Lieutenant,"  he  said  with  a  great 
sigh.  "But  afterwards  you  must  hot  blame  me  for 
having  told  you  things  about  a  superior  which  should 
not  be  told  and  come  only  from  the  talk  I  overheard 
at  mess." 


i6  ATLANTIDA 

"Tell  away." 

"It  was  in  1899.  I  was  then  Mess  Sergeant  at 
Sfax,  with  the  4th  Spahis.  I  had  a  good  record,  and 
besides,  as  I  did  not  drink,  the  Adjutant  had  as- 
signed me  to  the  officers'  mess.  It  was  a  soft  bertJi. 
The  marketing,  the  accounts,  recording  the  library 
books  which  were  borrowed  (there  weren't  many), 
and  the  key  of  the  wine  cupboard, — for  with  that 
you  can't  trust  orderlies.  The  Colonel  was  young 
and  dined  at  mess.  One  evening  he  came  in  late, 
looking  perturbed,  and,  as  soon  as  he  was  seated, 
called  for  silence : 

"  'Gentlemen,'  he  said,  'I  have  a  communication 
to  make  to  you,  and  I  shall  ask  for  your  advice. 
Here  is  the  question.  Tomorrow  morning  the  City 
of  Naples  lands  at  Sfax.  Aboard  her  is  Captain  de 
Saint-Avit,  recently  assigned  to  Feriana,  en  route  to 
his  post' 

"The  Colonel  paused.  'Good,'  thought  I,  'tomor- 
row's menu  is  about  to  be  considered.'  For  you 
know  the  custom.  Lieutenant,  which  has  existed  ever 
since  there  have  been  any  officers'  clubs  in  Africa. 
When  an  officer  is  passing  by,  his  comrades  go  to 
meet  him  at  the  boat  and  invite  him  to  remain  with 
them  for  the  length  of  his  stay  in  port.  He  pays 
his  score  in  news  from  home.  On  such  occasions 
everything  is  of  the  best,  even  for  a  simple  lieuten- 
ant. At  Sfax  an  officer  on  a  visit  meant — one  extra 
course,  vintage  wine  and  old  liqueurs. 


A  SOUTHERN    ASSIGNiMENT  17 

"But  this  time  I  imagined  from  the  looks  the 
officers  exchanged  that  perhaps  the  old  stock 
would  stay  undisturbed  in  its  cupboard. 

"  'You  have  all,  I  think,  heard  of  Captain  de 
Saint-Avit,  gentlemen,  and  the  rumors  about  him. 
It  is  not  for  us  to  inquire  into  them,  and  the  promo- 
tion he  has  had,  his  decoration  if  you  will,  permits 
us  to  hope  that  they  are  without  foundation.  But 
between  not  suspecting  an  officer  of  being  a  crimi- 
nal, and  receiving  him  at  our  table  as  a  comrade, 
there  is  a  gulf  that  we  are  not  obliged  to 
bridge.  That  is  the  matter  on  which  I  ask  your 
advice.* 

"There  was  silence.  The  officers  looked  at  each 
other,  all  of  them  suddenly  quite  grave,  even  to  the 
merriest  of  the  second  lieutenants.  In  the  corner, 
where  I  realized  that  they  had_  forgotten  me,  I  tried 
not  to  make  the  least  sound  that  might  recall  my 
presence. 

"  'We  thank  you.  Colonel,'  one  of  the  majors 
finally  replied,  'for  your  courtesy  in  consulting  us. 
All  my  comrades,  I  imagine,  know  to  what  terrible 
rumors  you  refer.  If  I  may  venture  to  say  so,  in 
Paris  at  the  Army  Geographical  Service,  where  I 
was  before  coming  here,  most  of  the  officers  of  the 
highest  standing  had  an  opinion  on  this  unfortunate 
matter  which  they  avoided  stating,  but  which  cast  no 
glory  upon  Captain  de  Saint-Avit.' 

"  *I  was  at  Bammako,  at  the  time  of  the  Mor- 


i8  ATLANTIDA 

;hange-Saint-Avit  mission,'  said  a  Captain.  'The 
opinion  of  the  officers  there,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  dif- 
fered very  little  from  what  the  Major  describes. 
But  I  must  add  that  they  all  admitted  that  they 
had  nothing  but  suspicions  to  go  on.  And  sus- 
picions are  certainly  not  enough  considering  the 
atrocity  of  the  affair.' 

"  'They  are  quite  enough,  gentlemen,'  replied  the 
Colonel,  'to  account  for  our  hesitation.  It  Is  not  a 
question  of  passing  judgment;  but  no  man  can 
sit  at  our  table  as  a  matter  of  right.  It  is  a  privi- 
lege based  on  fraternal  esteem.  The  only  question 
Is  whether  It  Is  your  decision  to  accord  It  to  Saint- 
Avlt' 

"So  saying,  he  looked  at  the  officers,  as  If  he  were 
taking  a  roll  call.  One  after  another  they  shook 
their  heads. 

"  'I  see  that  we  agree,'  he  said.  'But  our  task  Is 
unfortunately  not  yet  over.  The  City  of  Naples 
will  be  In  port  tomorrow  morning.  The  launch 
which  meets  the,  passengers  leaves  at  eight  o'clock. 
It  will  be  necessary,  gentlemen,  for  one  of  you  to 
go  aboard.  Captain  de  Saint-Avit  might  be  expect- 
ing to  come  to  us.  We  certainly  have  no  intention 
of  inflicting  upon  him  the  humiliation  of  refusing 
him.  If  he  presented  himself  in  expectation  of  the 
customary  reception.  He  must  be  prevented  from 
coming.  It  will  be  wisest  to  make  him  understand 
that  it  is  best  for  him  to  stay  aboard.' 


A  SOUTHERN    ASSIGNMENT  19 

"The  Colonel  looked  at  the  officers  again.  They 
could  not  but  agree.  But  how  uncomfortable  each 
one  looked! 

"  'I  cannot  hope  to  find  a  volunteer  among  you 
for  this  kind  of  mission,  so  I  am  compelled  to  ap- 
point some  one.  Captain  Grandjean,  Captain  de 
Saint-Avit  is  also  a  Captain.  It  is  fitting  that  it 
be  an  officer  of  his  own  rank  who  carries  him  our 
message.  Besides,  you  are  the  latest  comer  here. 
Therefore  it  is  to  you  that  I  entrust  this  painful  in- 
terview. I  do  not  need  to  suggest  that  you  conduct 
it  as  diplomatically  as  possible.' 

"Captain  Grandjean  bowed,  while  a  sigh  of  relief 
escaped  from  all  the  others.  As  long  as  the  Colonel 
stayed  in  the  room  Grandjean  remained  apart,  with- 
out speaking.  It  was  only  after  the  chief  had  de- 
parted that  he  let  fall  the  words: 

"  'There  are  some  things  that  ought  to  count 
a  good  deal  for  promotion.' 

"The  next  day  at  luncheon  everyone  was  impa- 
tient for  his  return. 

"'Well?'  demanded  the  Colonel,  briefly. 

"Captain  Grandjean  did  not  reply  immediately. 
He  sat  down  at  the  table  where  his  comrades  were 
mixing  their  drinks,  and  he,  a  man  notorious  for 
his  sobriety,  drank  almost  at  a  gulp,  without 
waiting  for  the  sugar  to  melt,  a  full  glass  of 
absinthe. 

"  'Well,  Captain?'  repeated  the  Colonel. 


20  ATLANTIDA 

"  'Well,  Colonel,  it's  done.  You  can  be  at  ease. 
He  will  not  set  foot  on  shore.  But,  ye  gods,  what 
an  ordeal!' 

"The  officers  did  not  dare  speak.  Only  their  looks 
expressed  their  anxious  curiosity. 

"Captain  Grandjean  poured  himself  a  swallow  of 
water. 

"  'You  see,  I  had  gotten  my  speech  all  ready,  in 
the  launch.  But  as  I  went  up  the  ladder  I  knew 
that  I  had  forgotten  it.  Saint-Avit  was  in  the 
smoking-room,  with  the  Captain  of  the  boat.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  I  could  never  find  the  strength 
to  tell  him,  when  I  saw  him  all  ready  to  go  ashore. 
He  was  in  full  dress  uniform,  his  sabre  lay  on  the 
bench  and  he  was  wearing  spurs.  No  one  wears 
spurs  on  shipboard.  I  presented  myself  and  we 
exchanged  several  remarks,  but  I  must  have  seemed 
somewhat  strained  for  from  the  first  moment  I 
knew  that  he  sensed  something.  Under  some  pre- 
text he  left  the  Captain,  and  led  me  aft  near  the 
great  rudder  wheel.  There,  I  dared  speak.  Colo- 
nel, what  did  I  say?  How  I  must  have  stammered! 
He  did  not  look  at  me.  Leaning  his  elbows  on  the 
railing  he  let  his  eyes  wander  far  off,  smiling  slightly. 
Then,  of  a  sudden,  when  I  was  well  tangled  up  in 
explanations,  he  looked  at  me  coolly  and  said: 

"  '  "I  must  thank  you,  my  dear  fellow,  for  having 
given  yourself  so  much  trouble.  But  it  is  quite  urF 
necessary.     I  am  out  of  sorts  and  have  no  inten- 


A  SOUTHERN    ASSIGNMENT         21 

tion  of  going  ashore.  At  least,  I  have  the  pleasure 
of  hav^ing  made  your  acquaintance.  Since  I  cannot 
profit  by  your  hospitality,  you  must  do  me  the  favor 
of  accepting  mine  as  long  as  the  launch  stays  by  the 
vessel." 

"  'Then  we  went  back  to  the  smoking-room.  He 
himself  mixed  the  cocktails.  He  talked  to  me.  We 
discovered  that  we  had  mutual  acquaintances.  Never 
shall  I  forget  that  face,  that  ironic  and  distant  look, 
that  sad  and  melodious  voice.  Ah !  Colonel,  gen- 
tlemen, I  don't  know  what  they  may  say  at  the  Geo- 
graphic Office,  or  in  the  posts  of  the  Soudan,  .  .  . 
There  can  be  nothing  in  it  but  a  horrible  suspicion. 
Such  a  man,  capable  of  such  a  crime, — believe  rrte, 
it  is  not  possible.' 

"That  is  all.  Lieutenant,"  finished  Chatelain,  af- 
ter a  silence.  "I  have  never  seen  a  sadder  meal  than 
that  one.  The  officers  hurried  through  lunch  with- 
out a  word  being  spoken,  in  an  atmosphere  of  de- 
pression against  which  no  one  tried  to  struggle. 
And  in  this  complete  silence,  you  could  see  them 
always  furtively  watching  the  City  of  Naples,  where 
she  was  dancing  merrily  in  the  breeze,  a  league  from 
shore. 

"She  was  still  there  in  the  evening  when  they 
assembled  for  dinner,  and  it  was  not  until  a  blast 
of  the  whistle,  followed  by  curls  of  smoke  escaping 
from  the  red  and  black  smokestack  had  announced 
the   departure   of  the  vessel   for  Gabes,   that   con- 


22  ATLANTIDA 

versatlon  was  resumed;  and  even  then,  less  gaily 
than  usual. 

"After  that,  Lieutenant,  at  the  Officers'  Club  at 
Sfax,  they  avoided  like  the  plague  any  subject  which 
risked  leading  the  conversation  back  to  Captain  de 
Saint-Avit." 

Chatelain  had  spoken  almost  in  a  whisper,  and 
the  little  people  of  the  desert  had  not  heard  this 
singular  history.  It  was  an  hour  since  we  had  fired 
our  last  cartridge.  Around  the  pool  the  turtle  doves, 
once  more  reassured,  were  bathing  their  feathers. 
Mysterious  great  birds  were  flying  under  the  dark- 
ening palm  trees.  A  less  warm  wind  rocked  the 
trembling  black  palm  branches.  We  had  laid  aside 
our  helmets  so  that  our  temples  could  welcome  the 
touch  of  the  feeble  breeze. 

"Chatelain,"  I  said,  "it  is  time  to  go  back  to  the 
bordj." 

Slowly  we  picked  up  the  dead  doves.  I  felt  the 
Sergeant  looking  at  me  reproachfully,  as  if  regret- 
ting that  he  had  spoken.  Yet  during  all  the  time 
that  our  return  trip  lasted,  I  could  not  find  the 
strength  to  break  our  desolate  silence  with  a  single 
word. 

The  night  had  almost  fallen  when  we  arrived. 
The  flag  which  surmounted  the  post  was  still  visible, 
drooping  on  its  standard,  but  already  its  colors  were 
indistinguishable.     To  the  west  the  sun  had  disap- 


A  SOUTHERN    ASSIGNMENT         2,3 

peared  behind  the  dunes  gashed  against  the  black 
violet  of  the  sky. 

When  we  had  crossed  the  gate  of  the  fortifica- 
tions, Chatelain  left  me. 

"I  am  going  to  the  stables,"  he  said. 

I  returned  alone  to  that  part  of  the  fort  where 
the  billets  for  the  Europeans  and  the  stores  of  am- 
munition were  located.  An  inexpressible  sadness 
weighed  upon  me. 

I  thought  of  my  comrades  in  French  garrisons. 
At  this  hour  they  must  be  returning  home  to  find 
awaiting  them,  spread  out  upon  the  bed,  their  dress 
uniform,  their  braided  tunic,  their  sparkling  epaul- 
ettes. 

"Tomorrow,"  I  said  to  myself,  "I  shall  request  a 
change  of  station." 

The  stairway  of  hard-packed  earth  was  already 
black.  But  a  few  gleams  of  light  still  seemed 
palely  prowling  in  the  office  when  I  entered. 

A  man  was  sitting  at  my  desk,  bending  over  the 
files  of  orders.  His  back  was  toward  me.  He  did 
not  hear  me  enter. 

"Really,  Gourrut,  my  lad,  I  beg  you  not  to 
disturb  yourself.  Make  yourself  completely  at 
home." 

The  man  had  risen,  and  I  saw  him  to  be  quite 
tall,  slender  and  very  pale. 

"Lieutenant  Ferrieres,  is  it  not?" 

He  advanced,  holding  out  his  hand. 


24  ATLANTIDA 

"Captain  de  Saint-Avit.  Delighted,  my  dear  fel- 
low." 

At  the  same  time  Chatelain  appeared  on  the 
threshold. 

"Sergeant,"  said  the  newcomer,  "I  cannot  con- 
gratulate you  on  the  little  I  have  seen.  There  is  not 
a  camel  saddle  which  is  not  in  want  of  buckles,  and 
they  are  rusty  enough  to  suggest  that  it  rains  at 
Hassi-Inifel  three  hundred  days  in  the  year.  Fur- 
thermore, where  were  you  this  afternoon?  Among 
the  four  Frenchmen  who  compose  the  post,  I  found 
only  on  my  arrival  one  convict,  opposite  a  quart 
of  eau-de-vie.  We  will  change  all  that,  I  hope.  At 
ease." 

"Captain,"  I  said,  and  my  voice  was  colorless, 
while  Chatelain  remained  frozen  at  attention,  "I 
must  tell  you  that  the  Sergeant  was  with  me,  that  it 
is  I  who  am  responsible  for  his  absence  from  the 
post,  that  he  is  an  irreproachable  non-commissioned 
officer  from  every  point  of  view,  and  that  if  we  had 
been  warned  of  your  arrival " 

"Evidently,"  he  said,  with  a  coldly  ironical  smile. 
"Also,  Lieutenant,  I  have  no  intention  of  holding 
him  responsible  for  the  negligences  which  attach  to 
your  office.  He  is  not  obliged  to  know  that  the 
officer  who  abandons  a  post  like  Hassi-Inifel,  if  it 
is  only  for  two  hours,  risks  not  finding  much  left  on 
his  return.  The  Chaamba  brigands,  my  dear  sir, 
love  firearms,  and  for  the  sake  of  the  sixty  muskets 


A  SOUTHERN    ASSIGNMENT  25 

in  your  racks,  I  am  sure  tiicy  would  not  scruple 
to  make  an  officer,  whose  otherwise  excellent  record 
is  well  known  to  me,  account  for  his  absence  to  a 
court-martial.  Come  with  me,  if  you  please.  We 
will  finish  the  little  inspection  I  began  too  rapidly  a 
little  while  ago." 

He  was  already  on  the  stairs.  I  followed  in  his 
footsteps.  Chatelain  closed  the  order  of  march.  I 
heard  him  murmuring,  in  a  tone  which  you  can 
imagine : 

"Well,  we  are  in  for  it  now !" 


CHAPTER    II 


CAPTAIN  DE  SAINT-AVIT 


A  FEW  days  sufficed  to  convince  us  that  Chate- 
lain's  fears  as  to  our  official  relations  with  the  new 
chief  were  vain.  Often  I  have  thought  that  by  the 
severity  he  showed  at  our  first  encounter  Salnt-Avit 
wished  to  create  a  formal  barrier,  to  show  us  that 
he  knew  how  to  keep  his  head  high  in  spite  of  the 
v/eight  of  his  heavy  past.  Certain  it  is  that  the 
day  after  his  arrival,  he  showed  himself  in  a  very 
different  light,  even  complimenting  the  Sergeant  on 
the  upkeep  of  the  post  and  the  Instruction  of  the 
men.     To  me  he  was  charming. 

"We  are  of  the  same  class,  aren't  we?"  he  said 
to  me.  "I  don't  have  to  ask  you  to  dispense  with 
formalities,  it  is  your  right." 

Vain  marks  of  confidence,  alas !  False  witnesses 
to  a  freedom  of  spirit,  one  in  face  of  the  other. 
What  more  accessible  in  appearance  than  the  im- 
mense Sahara,  open  to  all  those  who  are  willing  to 
be  engulfed  by  it?  Yet  what  is  more  secret? 
After  six  months  of  companionship,  of  communion 

26 


CAPTAIN     DK     SAINT-AVTT     27 

of  life  such  as  only  a  Post  in  the  South  offers,  1  ask 
myself  if  the  most  extraordinary  of  my  adventures 
is  not  to  be  leaving  to-morrow,  toward  unsounded 
solitudes,  with  a  man  whose  real  thoughts  are  as 
unknown  to  me  as  these  same  solitudes,  for  which 
he  has  succeeded  in  making  me  long. 

The  first  surprise  which  was  given  me  by  this 
singular  companion  was  occasioned  by  the  baggage 
that  followed  him. 

On  his  inopportune  arrival,  alone,  from  Wargla, 
he  had  trusted  to  the  Mehari  he  rode  only  what 
can  be  carried  without  harm  by  such  a  delicate  beast, 
— his  arms,  sabre  and  revolver,  a  heavy  carbine,  and 
a  very  reduced  pack.  The  rest  did  not  arrive  till 
fifteen  days  later,  with  the  convoy  which  supplied  the 
post. 

Three  cases  of  respectable  dimensions  were  car- 
ried one  after  another  to  the  Captain's  room,  and 
the  grimaces  of  the  porters  said  enough  as  to  their 
weight. 

I  discreetly  left  Saint-Avit  to  his  unpacking  and 
began  opening  the  mail  which  the  convoy  had  sent 
me. 

He  returned  to  the  office  a  little  later  and  glanced 
at  the  several  reviews  which  I  had  just  received. 

"So,"  he  said.     "You  take  these." 

He  skimmed  through,  as  he  spoke,  the  last  num- 
ber of  the  Zeitschrift  der  Gesellschaft  fur  Erdkiinde 
in  Berlin. 


28  ATLANTIDA 

"Yes,"  I  answered.  "These  gentlemen  are  kind 
enough  to  interest  themselves  in  my  works  on  the 
geology  of  the  Wadi  Mia  and  the  high  Igharghar." 

"That  may  be  useful  to  me,"  he  murmured,  con- 
tinuing to  turn  over  the  leaves. 

"It's  at  your  service." 

"Thanks.  I  am  afraid  I  have  nothing  to  offer 
you  in  exchange,  except  Pliny,  perhaps.  And  still — 
you  know  what  he  said  of  Igharghar,  according  to 
King  Juba.  However,  come  help  me  put  my  traps 
in  place  and  you  will  see  if  anything  appeals  to  you." 

I  accepted  without  further  urging. 

We  commenced  by  unearthing  various  meteoro- 
logical and  astronomical  instruments — the  thermom- 
eters of  Baudin,  Salleron,  Fastre,  an  aneroid,  a  For- 
tin  barometer,  chronometers,  a  sextant,  an  astro- 
nomical spyglass,  a  compass  glass.  ...  In  short, 
what  Duveyrier  calls  the  material  that  is  simplest 
and  easiest  to  transport  on  a  camel. 

As  Saint-Avit  handed  them  to  me  I  arranged 
them  on  the  only  table  in  the  room. 

"Now,"  he  announced  to  me,  "there  is  nothing 
more  but  books.  I  will  pass  them  to  you.  Pile  them 
up  in  a  corner  until  I  can  have  a  book-shelf  made." 

For  two  hours  altogether  I  helped  him  to  heap 
up  a  real  library.  And  what  a  library!  Such  as 
never  before  a  post  In  the  South  had  seen.  All  the 
texts  consecrated,  under  whatever  titles,  by  antiquity 
to  the  regions  of  the  Sahara  were  reunited  between 


CAPTAIN     DE     SAINT-AVIT     29 

the  four  rough-cast  walls  of  that  Httlc  room  of  the 
bordj.  Herodotus  and  Pliny,  naturally,  and  like- 
wise Strabo  and  Ptolemy,  Pomponius  Mela,  and 
Ammien  Marcellin.  But  besides  these  names  which 
reassured  my  ignorance  a  little,  I  perceived  those  of 
Corippus,  of  Paul  Orose,  of  Eratosthenes,  of  Pho- 
tius,  of  Diodorus  of  Sicily,  of  Solon,  of  Dion  Cas- 
sius,  of  Isidor  of  Seville,  of  Martin  de  Tyre,  of 
Ethicus,  of  Athenee,  the  Scriptores  Historiae  Aii- 
giistae,  the  Itinerarium  Antonini  Augiisti,  the  Geo- 
graphi  Latini  Minores  of  Riese,  the  Geographi 
Graec't  Minores  of  Karl  Muller.  .  ,  .  Since  I  have 
had  the  occasion  to  familiarize  myself  with  Aga- 
tarchides  of  Cos  and  Artemidorus  of  Ephesus, 
but  I  admit  that  in  this  instance  the  presence  of  their 
dissertations  in  the  saddle  bags  of  a  captain  of  cav- 
alry caused  me  some  amazement. 

I  mention  further  the  Descrittione  dell'  Africa  by 
Leon  I'African,  the  Arabian  Histories  of  Ibn-Khal- 
doun,  of  Al-Iaqoub,  of  El-Bekri,  of  Ibn-Batoutah,  of 
Mahommed  El-Tounsi.  ...  In  the  midst  of  this 
Babel,  I  remember  the  names  of  only  two  volumes 
of  contemporary  French  scholars.  There  were  also 
the  laborious  theses  of  Berlioux  ^  and  of  Schirmer.* 


1  Doctrina  Ptolemaei  ab  injuria  recentiorum  vindicata.  sive 
Nilus  Superior  et  Niger  verus,  hodiernus  Eghiren,  ab  antiquis 
explorati.  Paris,  8vo,  1874,  with  two  maps.  (Note  by  M. 
Leroux.) 

2  De  nomine  et  genere  popularum  qui  berberi  vulgo  dicuntur. 
Paris.  8vo.  1802.     (Note  by  M.  Leroux.) 


30  ATLANTIDA 

While  I  proceeded  to  make  piles  of  as  similar 
dimensions  as  possible  I  kept  saying  to  myself: 

"To  think  that  I  have  been  believing  all  this  time 
that  in  his  mission  with  Morhange,  Saint-Avit  was 
particularly  concerned  in  scientific  observations. 
Either  my  memory  deceives  me  strangely  or  he  is 
riding  a  horse  of  another  color.  What  is  sure  is 
that  there  is  nothing  for  me  in  the  midst  of  all  this 
chaos." 

He  must  have  read  on  my  face  the  signs  of  too 
apparently  expressed  surprise,  for  he  said  in  a  tone 
in  which  I  divined  a  tinge  of  defiance: 

"The  choice  of  these  books  surprises  you  a  bit?" 

"I  can't  say  it  surprises  me,"  I  replied,  "since  I 
don't  know  the  nature  of  the  work  for  which  you 
have  collected  them.  In  any  case  I  dare  say,  with- 
out fear  of  being  contradicted,  that  never  before  has 
officer  of  the  Arabian  OflUce  possessed  a  library  in 
which  the  humanities  were  so  well  represented." 

He  smiled  evasively,  and  that  day  we  pursued  the 
subject  no  further. 

Among  Saint-Avit's  books  I  had  noticed  a  volu- 
minous notebook  secured  by  a  strong  lock.  Several 
times  I  surprised  him  in  the  act  of  making  notations 
in  it.  When  for  any  reason  he  was  called  out  of 
the  room  he  placed  this  album  carefully  in  a  small 
cabinet  of  white  wood,  provided  by  the  munificence 
of  the  Administration.     When  he  was  not  writing 


CAPTAIN     DK     SAIXT-A\MI"     v 

and  the  office  did  not  require  his  presence,  he  had 
the  mehari  which  he  had  brouji^ht  with  him  saddled, 
and  a  few  minutes  later,  from  the  terrace  of  the  for- 
tifications, I  could  see  the  double  silhouette  disap- 
pearing with  great  strides  behind  a  hummock,  of  red 
earth  on  the  horizon. 

Each  time  these  trips  lasted  longer.  From  each 
he  returned  in  a  kind  of  exaltation  which  made  me 
watch  him  with  daily  increasing  disquietude  during 
meal  hours,  the  only  time  we  passed  quite  alone  to- 
gether. 

"Well,"  I  said  to  myself  one  day  when  his  re- 
marks had  been  more  lacking  in  sequence  than  usual, 
"it's  no  fun  being  aboard  a  submarine  when  the 
captain  takes  opium.  What  drug  can  this  fellow  be 
taking,  anyway?" 

Next  day  I  looked  hurriedly  through  my  com- 
rade's drawers.  This  inspection,  which  I  believed 
to  be  my  duty,  reassured  me  momentarily.  "All  very 
good,"  I  thought,  "provided  he  does  not  carry  with 
him  his  capsules  and  his  Pravaz  syringe." 

I  was  still  in  that  stage  where  I  could  suppose 
that  Andre's  imagination  needed  artificial  stimulants. 

Meticulous  observation  undeceived  me.  There 
was  nothing  suspicious  in  this  respect.  Moreover, 
he  rarely  drank  and  almost  never  smoked. 

And  nevertheless,  there  was  no  means  of  denying 
the  increase  of  his  disquieting  feverishness.  He  re- 
turned from  his  expeditions  each  time  with  his  eyes 


32  ATLANTIDA 

more  brilliant.  He  was  paler,  more  animated,  more 
irritable. 

One  evening  he  left  the  post  about  six  o'clock,  at 
the  end  of  the  greatest  heat  of  the  day.  We  waited 
for  him  all  night.  My  anxiety  was  all  the  stronger 
because  quite  recently  caravans  had  brought  tidings 
of  bands  of  robbers  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  post. 

At  dawn  he  had  not  returned.  He  did  not  come 
before  midday.  His  camel  collapsed  under  him, 
rather  than  knelt. 

He  realized  that  he  must  excuse  himself,  but  he 
waited  till  we  were  alone  at  lunch. 

"I  am  so  sorry  to  have  caused  you  any  anxiety. 
But  the  dunes  were  so  beautiful  under  the  moon! 
I  let  myself  be  carried  farther  and  farther.   .   .   ." 

"I  have  no  reproaches  to  make,  dear  fellow,  you 
are  free,  and  the  chief  here.  Only  allow  me  to  re- 
call to  you  certain  warnings  concerning  the  Chaamba 
brigands,  and  the  misfortunes  that  might  arise 
from  a  Commandant  of  a  post  absenting  himself 
too  long." 

He  smiled. 

"I  don't  dislike  such  evidence  of  a  good  mem- 
ory," he  said  simply. 

He  was  in  excellent,  too  excellent  spirits. 

"Don't  blame  me.  I  set  out  for  a  short  ride  as 
usual.  Then,  the  moon  rose.  And  then,  I  recog- 
nized the  country.  It  is  just  where,  twenty  years 
ago  next  November,   Flatters  followed  the  way  to 


CAPTAIN     DE     SAINT-AVIT     33 

his  destiny  in  an  exaltation  which  the  certainty  of 
not  returning  made  keener  and  more  intense." 

"Strange  state  of  mind  for  a  chief  of  an  expe- 
dition," I  murmured. 

"Say  nothinjT  against  Flatters.  Xo  man  ever  loved 
the  desert  as  he  did  .    .    .  even  to  dying  of  it." 

"Palat  and  Douls,  among  many  others,  have  loved 
it  as  much,"  I  answered.  "But  they  were  alone 
when  they  exposed  themselves  to  it.  Responsible 
only  for  their  own  lives,  they  were  free.  Flatters, 
on  the  other  hand,  was  responsible  for  sixty  lives. 
xA.nd  you  cannot  deny  that  he  allowed  his  whole  party 
to  be  massacred." 

The  words  were  hardly  out  of  my  lips  before  I 
regretted  them.  I  thought  of  Chatelain's  story,  of 
the  officers'  club  at  Sfax,  where  they  avoided  like 
the  plague  any  kind  of  conversation  which  might  lead 
their  thoughts  toward  a  certain  Morhange-Saint-Avit 
mission. 

Happily  I  observed  that  my  companion  was  not 
listening.     His  brilliant  eyes  were  far  away. 

"What  was  your  first  garrison?"  he  asked  sud- 
denly. 

"Auxonne." 

He  gave  an  unnatural  laugh. 

"Auxonne.  Province  of  the  Cote  d'Or.  District 
of  Dijon.  Six  thousand  inhabitants.  P.  L.  M.  Rail- 
way. Drill  school  and  review.  The  Colonel's  wife 
receives  Thursdays,  and  the  Major's  on  Saturdays. 


34  ATLANTIDA 

Leaves  every  Sunday, — the  first  of  the  month  to 
Paris,  the  three  others  to  Dijon.  That  explains  your 
judgment  of  Flatters. 

"For  my  part,  my  dear  fellow,  my  first  garrison 
was  at  Boghar.  I  arrived  there  one  morning  in 
October,  a  second  lieutenant,  aged  twenty,  of  the 
First  African  Batallion,  the  white  chevron  on  my 
black  sleeve.  .  .  .  Sun  stripe,  as  the  bagnards  say 
in  speaking  of  their  grades.  Boghar!  Two  days 
before,  from  the  bridge  of  the  steamer,  I  had  begun 
to  see  the  shores  of  Africa.  I  pity  all  those  who, 
when  they  see  those  pale  cliffs  for  the  first  time,  do 
not  feel  a  great  leap  at  their  hearts,  at  the  thought 
that  this  land  prolongs  itself  thousands  and  thou- 
sands of  leagues.  ...  I  was  little  more  than  a 
child,  I  had  plenty  of  money.  I  was  ahead  of  sched- 
ule. I  could  have  stopped  three  or  four  days  at  Al- 
giers to  amuse  myself.  Instead  I  took  the  train  that 
same  evening  for  Berroughia. 

"There,  scarcely  a  hundred  kilometers  from  Al- 
giers, the  railway  stopped.  Going  in  a  straight  line 
you  wont  find  another  until  you  get  to  the  Cape. 
The  diligence  travels  at  night  on  account  of  the  heat. 
When  we  came  to  the  hills  I  got  out  and  walked 
beside  the  carriage,  straining  for  the  sensation,  in 
this  new  atmosphere,  of  the  kiss  of  the  outlying 
desert. 

"About  midnight,  at  the  Camp  of  the  Zouaves,  a 
humble  post  on  the  road  embankment,  overlooking 


CAPTAIN     DE     SAINT-AVIT     35 

a  dry  valley  whence  rose  the  feverish  perfume  of 
oleander,  we  changed  horses.  They  had  there  a 
troop  of  convicts  and  impressed  laborers,  under  es- 
cort of  riflemen  and  convoys  to  the  quarries  in  the 
South.  In  part,  rogues  in  uniform,  from  the  jails 
of  Algiers  and  Douara, — without  arms,  of  course; 
the  others  civilians, — such  civilians!  this  year's  re- 
cruits, the  young  bullies  of  the  Chapelle  and  the 
Goutte-d'Or. 

"They  left  before  we  did.  Then  the  diligence 
caught  up  with  them.  From  a  distance  I  saw  in  a 
pool  of  moonlight  on  the  yellow  road  the  black  ir- 
regular mass  of  the  convoy.  Then  I  heard  a  weary 
dirge;  the  wretches  were  singing.  One,  in  a  sad  and 
gutteral  voice,  gave  the  couplet,  which  trailed  dis- 
mally through  the  depths  of  the  blue  ravines: 

"  'Ma'tntenant  qii'elle  est  grande, 
Elle  fait  le  trottoir, 
Avec  ceux  de  la  hande 

A  Richard-Lenoir.' 

"And  the  others  took  up  in  chorus  the  horrible 
refrain : 

"  'A  In  Bastille,  a  la  Bastille, 
On  aiyne  bien,  on  aime  hien 

Nini  Peaii  d'Chien; 
Elle  est  si  belle  et  si  gentille 

A  la  Bastille' 


36  ATLANTIDA 

"I  saw  them  all  In  contrast  to  myself  when  the 
diligence  passed  them.  They  were  terrible.  Under 
the  hideous  searchlight  their  eyes  shone  with  a  som- 
bre fire  in  their  pale  and  shaven  faces.  The  burning 
dust  strangled  their  raucous  voices  in  their  throats. 
A  frightful  sadness  took  possession  of  me, 

"When  the  diligence  had  left  this  fearful  night- 
mare behind,  I  regained  my  self-control. 

"  'Further,  much  further  South,'  I  exclaimed  to 
myself,  'to  the  places  untouched  by  this  miserable 
bilgewater  of  civilization.' 

"When  I  am  weary,  when  I  have  a  moment  of 
anguish  and  longing  to  turn  back  on  the  road  that  I 
have  chosen,  I  think  of  the  prisoners  of  Berroughia, 
and  then  I  am  glad  to  continue  on  my  way. 

"But  what  a  reward,  when  I  am  in  one  of  those 
places  where  the  poor  animals  never  think  of  fleeing 
because  they  have  never  seen  man,  where  the  desert 
stretches  out  around  me  so  widely  that  the  old  world 
could  crumble,  and  never  a  single  ripple  on  the  dune, 
a  single  cloud  in  the  white  sky  come  to  warn  me. 

"  'It  I?  .rue,'  I  murmured.  'I,  too,  once,  in  the 
middle  of  the  desert,  at  Tidi-Kelt,  I  felt  that  way.'  " 
Up  to  that  time  I  had  let  him  enjoy  his  exalta- 
tions without  interruption.  I  understood  too  late 
the  error  that  I  had  made  in  pronouncing  that  un- 
fortunate sentence. 

His  mocking  nervous  laughter  began  anew. 
"Ah!  indeed,  at  Tidi-Kelt?     I  beg  you,  old  man, 


CAPTAIN     DE     SAT  XT- A  VI  T     37 

In  your  own  Interest,  If  you  don't  want  to  make  an 
ass  of  yourself,  avoid  that  species  of  reminiscence. 
Honestly,  you  make  me  think  of  Fromentin,  or  that 
poor  Maupassant,  who  talked  of  the  desert  because 
he  had  been  to  Djelfa,  two  days'  journey  from  the 
street  of  Bab-Azound  and  the  Government  buildings, 
four  days  from  the  Avenue  de  I'Opera; — and  who, 
because  he  saw  a  poor  devil  of  a  camel  dying  near 
Bou-Saada,  believed  himself  in  the  heart  of  the  des- 
ert, on  the  old  route  of  the  caravans.  .  .  .  Tidl- 
Kelt,  the  desert!" 

"It  seems  to  me,  however,  that  In-Saleh "  I 

said,  a  little  vexed, 

"In-Saleh?  Tidl-Kelt!  But,  my  poor  friend,  the 
last  time  that  I  passed  that  way  there  were  as  many 
old  newspapers  and  empty  sardine  boxes  as  if  It  had 
been  Sunday  in  the  Wood  of  VIncennes." 

Such  a  determined,  such  an  evident  desire  to  an- 
noy me  made  me  forget  my  reserve. 

"Evidently,"  I  replied  resentfully,  "I  have  never 
been  to " 

I  stopped  myself,  but  it  was  already  too  late. 

He  looked  at  me,  squarely  in  the  face. 

"To  where?"  he  said  with  good  humor. 

I  did  not  answer. 

"To  where?"  he  repeated. 

And,  as  I  remained  strangled  in  my  muteness: 

"To  Wadi  Tarhit,  do  you  mean?" 

It  was  on  the  east  bank  of  Wadi  Tarhit.  a  hun- 


38  ATLANTIDA 

dred  and  twenty  kilometers  from  TImissao,  at  25.5 
degrees  north  latitude,  according  to  the  official  re- 
port, that  Captain  Morhange  was  buried. 

"Andre,"  I  cried  stupidly,  "I  swear  to  you " 

"What  do  you  swear  to  me?" 

"That  I  never  meant " 

"TospeakofWadiTarhit?  Why?  Why  should 
you  not  speak  to  me  of  Wadi  Tarhit?" 

In  answer  to  my  supplicating  silence,  he  merely 
shrugged  his  shoulders, 

"Idiot,"  was  all  he  said. 

And  he  left  me  before  I  could  think  of  even  one 
word  to  say. 

So  much  humility  on  my  part  had,  however,  not 
disarmed  him.  I  had  the  proof  of  it  the  next  day, 
and  the  way  he  showed  his  humor  was  even  marked 
by  an  exhibition  of  wretchedly  poor  taste. 

I  was  just  out  of  bed  when  he  came  into  my  room. 

"Can  you  tell  me  what  is  the  meaning  of  this?" 
he  demanded. 

He  had  in  his  hand  one  of  the  official  registers. 
In  his  nervous  crises  he  always  began  sorting  them 
over,  in  the  hope  of  finding  some  pretext  for  mak- 
ing himself  militarily  insupportable. 

This  time  chance  had  favored  him.. 

He  opened  the  register.  I  blushed  violently  at 
seeing  the  poor  proof  of  a  photograph  that  I  knew 
well. 

"What  is  that?"  he  repeated  disdainfully. 


CAPTAIN     DK     SAINT-AVIT     39 

Too  often  I  had  surprised  him  in  the  act  of  re- 
garding, none  too  kindly,  the  portrait  of  Mile,  de 
C.  which  hung  in  my  room  not  to  be  con\'inced  at 
that  moment  that  he  was  trying  to  pick  a  quarrel 
with  me. 

I  controlled  myself,  howexer,  and  placed  the  poor 
little  print  in  the  drawer. 

But  my  calmness  did  not  pacify  him. 

"Henceforth,"  he  said,  "take  care,  I  beg  you,  not 
to  mix  mementoes  of  your  gallantry  with  the  official 
papers." 

He  added,  with  a  smile  that  spoke  insult: 

"It  isn't  necessary  to  furnish  objects  of  excitation 
to  Gourrut." 
"Andre,"  I  said,  and  I  was  white,  "I  demand " 

He  stood  up  to  the  full  height  of  his 
stature. 

"Well  what  is  It?  A  gallantry,  nothing  more.  I 
have  authorized  you  to  speak  of  Wadi  Haifa, 
haven't  I  ?  Then  I  have  the  right,  I  should 
think " 

"Andre!" 

Now  he  was  looking  maliciously  at  the  wall,  at 
the  little  portrait  the  replica  of  which  I  had  just  sub- 
jected to  this  painful  scene. 

"There,  there,  I  say,  you  aren't  angry,  are  you? 
But  between  ourselves  you  will  admit,  will  you  not, 
that  she  is  a  little  thin?" 

And  before  I  could  find  time  to  answer  him,  he 


40  ATLANTIDA 

had   removed  himself,   humming  the  shameful   re- 
frain of  the  previous  night: 

"A  la  Bastille,  a  la  Bastille, 

On  aime  hien,  on  aime  hien. 

Mini,  Peau  de  Chien." 

For  three  days  neither  of  us  spoke  to  the  other. 
My  exasperation  was  too  deep  for  words.  Was  I, 
then,  to  be  held  responsible  for  his  avatars !  Was 
it  my  fault  if,  between  two  phrases,  one  seemed  al- 
ways some  allusion 

"The  situation  is  intolerable,"  I  said  to  myself. 
"It  cannot  last  longer." 

It  was  to  cease  very  soon. 

One  week  after  the  scene  of  the  photograph  the 
courier  arrived.  I  had  scarcely  glanced  at  the  in- 
dex of  the  Zeitschrift,  the  German  review  of  which 
I  have  already  spoken,  when  I  started  with  uncon- 
trollable amazement.  I  had  just  read:  "Reise  tind 
Entdeckungen  zwei  franzosischer  ofiziere,  Ritt- 
meisters  Morhange  iind  Oberleutnants  de  Saint- 
Avit,  in  west  lichen  Sahara." 

At  the  same  time  I  heard  my  comrade's  voice. 

"Anything  interesting  in  this  number?" 

"No,"  I  answered  carelessly. 

"Let's  see." 

I  obeyed;  what  else  was  there  to  do? 

It  seemed  to  me  that  he  grew  paler  as  he  ran 


CAPTAIN     I)E     SAINT-AVIT     41 

over  the  index.     However,  his  tone  was  altogether 

natural  when  he  said: 

"You  will  let  me  borrow  it,  of  course?" 

And  he  went  out,  casting  me  one  defiant  glance. 

The  day  passed  slowly.  I  did  not  see  him  again 
until  evening.  He  was  gay,  very  gay,  and  his  gaiety 
hurt  me. 

When  we  had  finished  dinner,  we  went  out  and 
leaned  on  the  balustrade  of  the  terrace.  From  there 
out  swept  the  desert,  which  the  darkness  was  already 
encroaching  upon  from  the  east. 

Andre  broke  the  silence. 

"By  the  way,  I  have  returned  your  review  to  you. 
You  were  right,  it  is  not  interesting." 

His  expression  was  one  of  supreme  amusement. 

"What  is  it,  what  is  the  matter  with  you,  any- 
way?" 

"Nothing,"  I  answered,  my  throat  aching. 

"Nothing?  Shall  I  tell  you  what  is  the  matter 
with  you?" 

I  looked  at  him  with  an  expression  of  supplica- 
tion. 

"Idiot,"  he  found  it  necessary  to  repeat  once  more. 

Night  fell  quickly.  Only  the  southern  slope  of 
Wadi  Mia  was  still  yellow.  Among  the  boulders  a 
little  jackal  was  running  about,  yapping  sharply. 

"The  dib  is  making  a  fuss  about  nothing,  bad 
business,"  said  Saint-Avit. 


42  ATLANTIDA 

He  continued  pitilessly: 

"Then  you  aren't  willing  to  say  anything?" 

I  made  a  great  effort,  to  produce  the  following 
pitiful  phrase: 

"What  an  exhausting  day.     What  a  night,  heavy, 

heavy You  don't  feel  like  yourself,  you  don't 

know  any  more " 

"Yes,"  said  the  voice  of  Saint-Avit,  as  from  a 
distance,  "A  heavy,  heavy  night:  as  heavy,  do  you 
know,  as  when  I  killed  Captain  Morhange." 


CHAPTER    III 

THE     MORHANGE-SAINT-AVIT    MISSIONT 

"So  I  killed  Captain  Morhange,"  Andre  de  Salnt- 
Avlt  said  to  me  the  next  day,  at  the  same  time,  In 
the  same  place,  with  a  calm  that  took  no  account  of 
the  night,  the  frightful  night  I  had  just  been  through. 
"Why  do  I  tell  you  this?  I  don't  know  in  the  least. 
Because  of  the  desert,  perhaps.  Are  you  a  man 
capable  of  enduring  the  weight  of  that  confidence, 
and  further,  if  necessary,  of  assuming  the  conse- 
quences it  may  bring?  I  don't  know  that,  either. 
The  future  will  decide.  For  the  present  there  is 
only  one  thing  certain,  the  fact,  I  tell  you  again,  that 
I  killed  Captain  Morhange. 

I  killed  him.  And,  since  you  want  me  to  specify 
the  reason,  you  understand  that  I  am  not  going  to 
torture  my  brain  to  turn  it  into  a  romance  for  you, 
or  commence  by  recounting  in  the  naturalistic  man- 
ner of  what  stuff  my  first  trousers  were  made,  or, 
as  the  neo-Catholics  would  have  it,  how  often  I 
went  as  a  child  to  confession,  and  how  much  I  liked 
doing  it.      I  have  no   taste   for  useless   exhibitions. 

43 


44  ATLANTIDA 

You  will  find  that  this  recital  begins  strictly  at  the 
time  when  I  met  Morhange. 

And  first  of  all,  I  tell  you,  however  much  it  has 
cost  my  peace  of  mind  and  my  reputation,  I  do  not 
regret  having  known  him.  In  a  word,  apart  from 
all  question  of  false  friendship,  I  am  convicted  of  a 
black  ingratitude  in  having  killed  him.  It  is  to  him, 
it  is  to  his  knowledge  of  rock  inscriptions,  that  I 
owe  the  only  thing  that  has  raised  my  life  in  interest 
above  the  miserable  little  lives  dragged  out  by  my 
companions  at  Auxonne,  and  elsewhere. 

This  being  understood,  here  are  the  facts: 
It  was  in  the  Arabian  Office  at  Wargla,  when  I 
was  a  lieutenant,  that  I  first  heard  the  name,  Mor- 
hange. And  I  must  add  that  it  was  for  me  the  occa- 
sion of  an  attack  of  bad  humor.  We  were  having 
difficult  times.  The  hostility  of  the  Sultan  of  Mo- 
rocco was  latent.  At  Touat,  where  the  assassination 
of  Flatters  and  of  Frescaly  had  already  been  con- 
cocted, connivance  was  being  given  to  the  plots  of 
our  enemies.  Touat  was  the  center  of  conspiracies, 
of  razzias,  of  defections,  and  at  the  same  time,  the 
depot  of  supply  for  the  insatiable  nomads.  The 
Governors  of  Algeria,  Tirman,  Cambon,  Laferriere, 
demanded  its  occupation.  The  Ministers  of  War 
tacitly  agreed.  .  .  .  But  there  was  Parliament, 
which  did  nothing  at  all,  because  of  England,  be- 
cause of  Germany,  and  above  all  because  of  a  cer- 
tain Declaration  of  the  Rights  of  Man  and  of  the 


THE  MORHANGE-SAINT-AVIT  MISSION  45 

Citizen,  whicii  prescribed  that  insurrection  is  the 
inost  sacred  of  duties,  even  when  the  Insurgents  are 
savages  who  cut  your  head  off.  In  short,  the  mili- 
tary authority  could  only,  at  Its  own  discretion,  In- 
crease the  southern  garrisons,  and  establish  new 
posts;  this  one,  Berresof,  HassI-el-MIa,  Fort  Mac- 
Mahon,  Fort  Lallemand,  Fort  MIrlbel.  .  .  .  But 
as  Castries  puts  it,  you  don't  hold  the  nomads  with 
bordjs,  you  hold  them  by  the  belt.  The  middle  was 
the  oasis  of  Touat.  Their  honors,  the  lawyers  of 
Paris,  had  to  be  convinced  of  the  necessity  of  taking 
possession  of  the  oasis  of  Touat.  The  best  way 
would  be  to  present  them  with  a  faithful  pic- 
ture of  the  plots  that  were  being  woven  there 
against  us. 

The  principal  authors  were,  and  still  are,  the 
Senoussis,  whose  able  chief  has  been  forced  by  our 
arms  to  transfer  the  seat  of  his  confederation  sev- 
eral thousand  leagues  from  there,  to  Schimmedrou, 
In  the  TIbestl.  They  had,  I  say  they  through  mod- 
esty, the  idea  of  ascertaining  the  traces  left  by  these 
agitators  on  their  favorite  places  of  concourse;  Rhat, 
Temasslnin,  the  plain  of  Adejamor,  and  In-Salah. 
It  was,  you  sec,  at  least  after  leaving  Temasslnin, 
practically  the  same  itinerary  as  that  followed  in 
1864  by  General  Rohlfs. 

I  had  already  attracted  some  attention  by  two  ex- 
cursions, one  to  Agadcs,  and  the  other  to  Bllma,  and 
was  considered  by  the  staff  officers  to  be  one  of  the 


46  ATLANTIDA 

best  informed  on  the  Senoussis  question.  I  was 
therefore  selected  to  assume  this  new  task. 

I  then  suggested  that  it  would  be  of  interest  to 
kill  two  birds  with  one  stone,  and  to  get,  in  passing, 
an  idea  of  the  northern  Ahoggar,  so  as  to  make 
sure  whether  the  Tuaregs  of  Ahitarhen  had  con- 
tinued to  have  as  cordial  relations  with  the  Senoussis 
as  they  had  had  when  they  combined  to  massacre 
the  Flatters'  mission.  I  was  immediately  accorded 
the  permission.  The  change  in  my  first  plan  was  as 
follows:  After  reaching  Ighelaschem,  six  hundred 
kilometers  south  of  Temassinin,  instead  of  taking  the 
direct  road  to  Touat  via  Rhat,  I  would,  penetrating 
between  the  high  land  of  Mouydir  and  Ahaggar, 
strike  off  to  the  southwest  as  far  as  Shikh-Salah. 
There  I  would  turn  again  northwards,  towards  In- 
Salah,  by  the  road  to  the  Soudan  and  Agades.  In 
all  hardly  eight  kilometers  additional  in  a  trip  of 
about  seven  hundred  leagues,  with  the  certainty  of 
making  as  complete  an  examination  as  possible  of 
the  roads  which  our  enemies,  the  Senoussis  of  Tibesti 
and  the  Tuareg  of  the  Ahoggar,  must  follow  to  ar- 
rive at  Touat.  On  the  way,  for  every  explorer  has 
his  pet  fancy,  I  was  not  at  all  displeased  to  think 
that  I  would  have  a  chance  to  examine  the  geological 
formation  of  the  plateau  of  Egere,  about  which 
Duveyrier  and  the  others  are  so  disappointingly 
indefinite. 

Everything  was   ready   for  my  departure   from 


THE  MORIIANGE-SAINT-AVIT  MISSION  47 

Wargla.  Everythlnp:,  which  is  to  say,  very  little. 
Three  mehara  :  mine,  my  ccMiipanion  Bou-Djema's 
(a  faithful  Chaamba,  whom  I  had  had  with  me  in 
my  wanderings  through  the  Air,  less  of  a  guide  in 
the  country  I  was  familiar  with  than  a  machine  for 
saddling  and  unsaddling  camels),  then  a  third  to 
carry  provisions  and  skins  of  drinking  water,  very 
little,  since  I  had  taken  pains  to  locate  the  stops 
with  reference  to  the  wells. 

Some  people  go  equipped  for  this  kind  of  expe- 
dition with  a  hundred  regulars,  and  even  cannon.  I 
am  for  the  tradition  of  Douls  and  Rene  Callie,  I  go 
alone. 

I  was  at  that  perfect  moment  when  only  one  thin 
thread  still  held  me  to  the  civilized  world  when  an 
official  cable  arrived  at  Wargla. 

'^Lieutenant  de  Saint-Avit,"  it  said  briefly,  "will 
delay  his  departure  until  the  arrival  of  Captain  Mor- 
hange,  who  will  accompany  him  on  his  expedition 
of  exploration." 

I  was  more  than  disappointed.  I  alone  had  had 
the  idea  of  this  expedition.  I  had  had  all  the  difti- 
culty  that  you  can  imagine  to  make  the  authorities 
agree  to  it.  And  now  when  I  was  rejoicing  at  the 
idea  of  the  long  hours  I  would  spend  alone  with 
myself  In  the  heart  of  the  desert,  they  sent  me  a 
stranger,  and,  to  make  matters  worse,  a  superior. 

The  condolences  of  my  comrades  aggravated  my 
bad  humor. 


48  A  T  L  A  N  T  I  D  A 

The  Yearly  Report,  consulted  on  the  spot,  had 
given  them  the  following  information  : 

"Morhange  (Jean-Marie-Fran^ois),  class  of 
1 88 1.  Breveted.  Captain,  unassigned.  (Topo- 
graphical Service  of  the  Army.)" 

"There  is  the  explanation  for  you,"  said  one. 
''They  are  sending  one  of  their  creatures  to  pull 
the  chestnuts  out  of  the  fire,  after  you  have  had  all 
the  trouble  of  making  it.  Breveted!  That's  a  great 
way.  The  theories  of  Ardant  du  Picq  or  else  noth- 
ing about  here." 

"I  don't  altogether  agree  with  you,"  said  the 
Major.  "They  knew  in  Parliament,  for  some  one 
is  always  indiscreet,  the  real  aim  of  Saint-Avit's  mis- 
sion: to  force  their  hand  for  the  occupation  of 
Touat.  And  this  Morhange  must  be  a  man  serving 
the  interests  of  the  Army  Commission.  All  these 
people,  secretaries,  members  of  Parliament,  govern- 
ors, keep  a  close  watch  on  each  other.  Some  one 
will  write  an  amusing  paradoxical  history  some  day, 
of  the  French  Colonial  Expansion,  which  is  made 
without  the  knowledge  of  the  powers  in  office,  when 
it  is  not  actually  in  spite  of  them." 

"Whatever  the  reason,  the  result  will  be  the 
same,"  I  said  bitterly;  "we  will  be  two  Frenchmen 
to  spy  on  each  other  night  and  day,  along  the  roads 
to  the  south.  An  amiable  prospect  when  one  has 
none  too  much  time  to  foil  all  the  tricks  of  the  na- 
tives.   When  does  he  arrive?" 


THE  MORHANGE-SAINT-AVIT  MISSION  49 

"Day  after  tomorrow,  probably.  I  ha\e  news  of 
a  convoy  coming;  from  Ghardaia.  It  is  likely  that 
he  will  avail  himself  of  it.  The  indications  arc 
that  he  doesn't  know  ver)'  much  about  traveling 
alone." 

Captain  Morhange  did  arrive  in  fact  two  days 
later  by  means  of  the  convoy  from  Ghardaia.  I 
was  the  first  person  for  whom  he  asked. 

When  he  came  to  my  room,  whither  I  had  with- 
drawn in  dignity  as  soon  as  the  convoy  was  sighted, 
I  was  disagreeably  surprised  to  foresee  that  I  would 
have  great  difficulty  in  preserving  my  prejudice 
against  him. 

He  was  tall,  his  face  full  and  ruddy,  with  laugh- 
ing blue  eyes,  a  small  black  moustache,  and  hair  that 
was  already  white. 

"I  have  a  thousand  apologies  to  make  to  you,  my 
dear  fellow,"  he  said  immediately,  with  a  frankness 
that  I  have  never  seen  in  any  other  man.  "You  must 
be  furious  with  my  importunity  in  upsetting  your 
plans  and  delaying  your  departure." 

"By  no  means,  Captain,"  I  replied  coolly. 

"You  really  have  only  yourself  to  blame.  It  is 
on  account  of  your  knowledge  of  the  southern  routes, 
so  highly  esteemed  at  Paris,  that  I  wished  to  have 
you  to  initiate  me  when  the  Ministries  of  Instruction 
and  of  Commerce,  and  the  Geographical  Society 
combined  to  charge  me  with  the  mission  which  brings 
me  here.     These  three  honorable  institutions   ha\"c 


50  ATLANTIDA 

In  fact  entrusted  me  with  the  attempt  to  re-establish 
the  ancient  track  of  the  caravans,  which,  from  the 
ninth  century,  traffiicked  between  Tunis  and  the  Sou- 
dan, by  Toweur,  Wargla,  Es-Souk  and  the  bend  of 
the  Bourroum;  and  to  study  the  possibility  of 
restoring  this  route  to  its  ancient  splendor.  At 
the  same  time,  at  the  Geographic  Bureau,  I  heard 
of  the  journey  that  you  are  undertaking.  From 
Wargla  to  Shikh-Salah  our  two  itineraries  are  the 
same.  Only  I  must  admit  to  you  that  it  is  the  first 
voyage  of  this  kind  that  I  have  ever  undertaken.  I 
would  not  be  afraid  to  hold  forth  for  an  hour  on 
Arabian  literature  in  the  amphitheatre  of  the  School 
of  Oriental  Languages,  but  I  know  well  enough 
that  in  the  desert  I  should  have  to  ask  for  directions 
whether  to  turn  right  or  left.  This  is  the  only 
chance  which  could  give  me  such  an  opportunity, 
and  at  the  same  time  put  me  under  obligation  for 
this  Introduction  to  so  charming  a  companion.  You 
must  not  blame  me  if  I  seized  it,  if  I  used  all  my 
influence  to  retard  your  departure  from  Wargla 
until  the  instant  when  I  could  join  you.  I  have  only 
one  more  word  to  add  to  what  I  have  said.  I  am 
entrusted  with  a  mission  which  by  its  origin  is  ren- 
dered essentially  civilian.  You  are  sent  out  by  the 
Ministry  of  War.  Up  to  the  moment  when,  ar- 
rived at  Shikh-Salah  we  turn  our  backs  on  each 
other  to  attain,  you  Touat,  and  I  the  Niger,  all  your 
recommendations,  all  your  orders,  will  be  followed 


THE  MORHANGE-SAINT-AVIT  MISSION  51 

by  a  subaltern,  and,    I   hope,  by  a   friend  as  well." 

All  the  time  he  was  talking  so  openly  I  felt  de- 
lightedly my  worst  recent  fears  melting  away. 
Nevertheless,  I  still  experienced  a  mean  desire  to 
show  him  some  marks  of  reserve,  for  having  thus 
disposed  of  my  company  at  a  distance,  without  con- 
sulting me. 

"I  am  very  grateful  to  you,  Captain,  for  your 
extremely  flattering  words.  When  do  you  wish  to 
leave  Wargla  ?" 

He  made  a  gesture  of  complete  detachment. 

"Whenever  you  like.  Tomorrow,  this  evening. 
I  have  already  delayed  you.  Your  preparations  must 
have  already  been  made  for  some  time." 

My  little  maneuver  had  turned  against  myself.  I 
had  not  been  counting  on  leaving  before  the  next 
week. 

"Tomorrow,  Captain,  but  your  luggage?" 

He  smiled  delightfully, 

"I  thought  it  best  to  bring  as  little  as  possible.  A 
light  pack,  some  papers.  My  brave  camel  had  no 
difficulty  in  bringing  it  along.  For  the  rest  I  de- 
pend on  your  advice,  and  the  resources  of  Owar- 
gla." 

I  was  well  caught.  I  had  nothing  further  to  say. 
And  moreover,  such  freedom  of  spirit  and  manner 
had  already  captivated  me. 

"It  seems,"  said  my  comrades,  when  the  time  for 
aperitives  had  brought  us  all  together  again,  "that 


52  A  T  L  A  N  T  I  D  A 

this  Captain  of  yours  is  a  remarkably  charming  fel- 
low." 

"Remarkably." 

"You  surely  can't  have  any  trouble  with  him.  It 
is  only  up  to  you  to  see  that  later  on  he  doesn't  get 
all  the  glory." 

"We  aren't  working  with  the  same  end  in  view," 
I  answered  evasively. 

I  was  thoughtful,  only  thoughtful  I  give  you  my 
word.  From  that  moment  I  harbored  no  further 
grudge  against  Morhange.  Yet  my  silence  per- 
suaded him  that  I  was  unforgiving.  And  everyone, 
do  you  hear  me,  everyone  said  later  on,  when  sus- 
picions became  rife: 

"He  is  surely  guilty.  We  saw  them  go  off  to- 
gether.   We  can  affirm  it." 

I  am  guilty.  .  .  .  But  for  a  low  motive  of  jeal- 
ousy. .   .   .     How  sickening.  .   .   . 

After  that,  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  flee, 
flee,  as  far  as  the  places  where  there  are  no  more 
men  who  think  and  reason. 

Morhange  appeared,  his  arm  resting  on  the 
Major's,  who  was  beaming  over  this  new  acquain- 
tanceship. 

He  presented  him  enthusiastically: 

"Captain  Morhange,  gentlemen.  An  officer  of 
the  old  school,  and  a  man  after  our  own  hearts,  I 
give  you  my  word.  He  wants  to  leave  tomorrow, 
but  we  must  give  him  such  a  reception  that  he  will 


THE  MORHANGE-SAINT-AVIT  MISSION  5.1 

forget  that  idea  before  two  days  arc  up.  Come, 
Captain,  you  have  at  least  eight  days  to  give  us." 

"I  am  at  the  disposition  of  Lieutenant  de  Saint- 
Avit,"  replied  Morhange,  with  a  quiet  smile. 

The  conversation  became  general.  The  sound  of 
glasses  and  laughter  rang  out.  I  heard  my  comrades 
in  ecstasies  over  the  stories  that  the  newcomer 
poured  out  with  ne^•er-failing  humor.  And  T,  never, 
never  have  I  felt  so  sad. 

The  time  came  to  pass  into  the  dining-room. 

"At  my  right,  Captain,"  cried  the  Major, 
more  and  more  beaming.  "And  I  hope  you  will 
keep  on  giving  us  these  new  lines  on  Paris,  We  are 
not  up  with  the  times  here,  you  know." 

"Yours  to  command,  Major,"  said  Morhange. 

"Be  seated,  gentlemen." 

The  officers  obeyed,  with  a  joyous  clatter  of  mov- 
ing chairs.  I  had  not  taken  my  eyes  off  Morhange, 
who  was  still  standing. 

"Major,  gentlemen,  you  will  allow  me,"  he  said. 

And  before  sitting  down  at  that  table,  where  every 
moment  he  was  the  life  of  the  party,  in  a  low  voice, 
with  his  eyes  closed.  Captain  Morhange  recited  the 
Benedicite. 


CHAPTER  IV 

TOWARDS    LATITUDE    25 

"You  see,"  said  Captain  Morhange  to  me  fifteen 
days  later,  "you  are  much  better  informed  about 
the  ancient  routes  through  the  Sahara  than  you  have 
been  wilhng  to  let  me  suppose,  since  you  know  of  the 
existence  of  the  two  Tadekkas.  But  the  one  of 
which  you  have  just  spoken  is  the  Tadekka  of  Ibn- 
Batoutah,  located  by  this  historian  seventy  days 
from  Touat,  and  placed  by  Schirmer,  very  plausibly, 
in  the  unexplored  territo;-y  of  the  Aouelimmlden. 
This  is  the  Tadekka  by  which  the  Sonrahi  caravans 
passed  every  year,  travelling  by  Egypt. 

"My  Tadekka  is  different,  the  capital  of  the 
veiled  people,  placed  by  Ibn-Khaldoun  twenty  days 
south  of  Wargla,  which  he  calls  Tadmekka.  It  is 
towards  this  Tadmekka  that  I  am  headed.  I  must 
establish  Tadmekka  in  the  i*uins  of  Es-Souk.  The 
commercial  trade  route,  which  in  the  ninth  century 
bound  the  Tunisian  Djerid  to  the  bend  the  Niger 
makes  at  Bourroum,  passed  by  Es-Souk.  It  is  to 
study  the  possibility  of  reestablishing  this   ancient 

54 


TOWARDS     L  A  r  I  T  U  D  i:     25      SS 

thoroughfare  that  the  Ministries  gave  me  this  mis- 
sion, which  has  given  me  the  pleasure  of  your  com- 
panionship." 

"You  are  probably  in  for  a  disappointment,"  I 
said.  "Everything  indicates  that  the  commerce  there 
is  very  slight." 

"Well,  I  shall  see,"  he  answered  composedly. 

This  was  while  we  were  following  the  unicolored 
banks  of  a  salt  lake.  The  great  saline  stretch  shone 
pale-blue,  under  the  rising  sun.  The  legs  of  our  five 
mehara  cast  on  it  their  moving  shadows  of  a  darker 
blue.  For  a  moment  the  only  inhabitant  of  these 
solitudes,  a  bird,  a  kind  of  indeterminate  heron,  rose 
and  hung  in  the  air,  as  if  suspended  from  a 
thread,  only  to  sink  back  to  rest  as  soon  as  we  had 
passed. 

I  led  the  way,  selecting  the  route,  Morhange  fol- 
lowed. Enveloped  in  a  bernous,  his  head  covered 
with  the  straight  cJicch'w  of  the  Spahis,  a  great  chap- 
let  of  alternate  red  and  white  beads,  ending  in  a 
cross,  around  his  neck,  he  realized  perfectly  the  ideal 
of  Father  Lavigerie's  White  Fathers. 

After  a  two-days'  halt  at  Temassinin  we  had  just 
left  the  road  followed  by  Flatters,  and  taken  an 
oblique  course  to  the  south.  I  have  the  honor  of 
having  antedated  Fourcau  in  demonstrating  the  im- 
portance of  Temassinin  as  a  geometrical  point  for 
the  passage  of  caravans,  and  of  selecting  the  place 
where  Captain  Pein  has  just  now  constructed  a  fort. 


S6  ATLANTIDA 

The  junction  for  the  roads  that  lead  to  Touat  from 
Fezzan  and  TibestI,  Temassinin  Is  the  future  seat  of 
a  marvellous  Intelligence  Department.  What  I  had 
collected  there  In  two  days  about  the  disposition  of 
our  Senoussis  enemies  was  of  Importance.  I  noticed 
that  Morhange  let  me  proceed  with  my  Inquiries  with 
complete  Indifference. 

These  two  days  he  had  passed  in  conversation 
with  the  old  negro  guardian  of  the  turbet,  which  pre- 
serves, under  Its  plaster  dome,  the  remains  of  the 
venerated  Sidi-Moussa.  The  confidences  they  ex- 
changed, I  am  sorry  to  say  that  I  have  forgotten. 
But  from  the  negro's  amazed  admiration,  I  realized 
the-  ignorance  in  which  I  stood  to  the  mysteries  of 
the  desert,  and  how  familiar  they  were  to  my  com- 
panion. 

And  if  you  want  to  get  any  idea  of  the  extraordi- 
nary originality  which  Morhange  introduced  into 
such  surroundings,  you  who,  after  all,  have  a  certain 
familiarity  with  the  tropics,  listen  to  this.  It  was 
exactly  two  hundred  kilometers  from  here,  in  the 
vicinity  of  the  Great  Dune,  In  that  horrible  stretch 
of  six  days  without  water.  We  had  just  enough  for 
two  days  before  reaching  the  next  well,  and  you 
know  these  wells;  as  Flatters  wrote  to  his  wife,  "you 
have  to  work  for  hours  before  you  can  clean  them 
out  and  succeed  In  watering  beasts  and  men."  By 
chance  wc  met  a  caravan  there,  which  was  going 
east  towards  Rhadames,  and  had  com.e  too  far  north. 


TOWARDS     LATITUDE    25      57 

The  camels'  humps,  shrunken  and  shaking,  bespoke 
the  sufferings  of  the  troop.  Behind  came  a  little 
gray  ass,  a  pitiful  burrow,  interferring  at  every 
step,  and  lightened  of  its  pack  because  the  mer- 
chants knew  that  it  was  going  to  die.  Instinctively, 
with  its  last  strength,  it  followed,  knowing  that  when 
it  could  stagger  no  longer,  the  end  would  come  and 
the  flutter  of  the  bald  vultures'  wings.  I  love  ani- 
mals, which  I  have  solid  reasons  for  preferring  to 
men.  But  never  should  I  have  thought  of  doing 
what  Morhange  did  then.  T  tell  you  that  our  water 
skins  were  almost  dry,  and  that  our  own  camels, 
without  which  one  is  lost  in  the  empty  desert,  had  not 
been  watered  for  many  hours.  Morhange  made  his 
kneel,  uncocked  a  skin,  and  made  the  little  ass  drink. 
I  certainly  felt  gratification  at  seeing  the  poor  bare 
flanks  of  the  miserable  beast  pant  with  satisfaction. 
But  the  responsibility  was  mine.  Also  I  had  seen  Bou- 
Djema's  aghast  expression,  and  the  disapproval  of 
the  thirsty  members  of  the  caravan.  I  remarked  on 
it.  How  it  was  received!  "What  have  I  given,"  re- 
plied Morhange,  "was  my  own.  We  will  reach  El- 
Biodh  to-morrow  evening,  about  six  o'clock.  Between 
here  and  there  I  know  that  I  shall  not  be  thirsty." 
And  that  in  a  tone,  in  which  for  the  first  time  he 
allowed  the  authority  of  a  Captain  to  speak.  "That 
is  easy  to  say,"  I  thought,  ill-humoredly.  "He  knows 
that  when  he  wants  them,  my  water-skin,  and  Bou- 
Djema's,  are  at  his  service."    But  I  did  not  yet  knov.- 


58  ATLANTIDA 

Morhange  very  well,  and  it  is  true  that  until  the 
evening  of  the  next  day  when  we  reached  El-Biodh, 
refusing  our  offers  with  smiling  determination,  he 
drank  nothing. 

Shades  of  St.  Francis  of  Assisi !  Umbrian  hills, 
so  pure  under  the  rising  sun !  It  was  in  the  light  of 
a  like  sunrise,  by  the  border  of  a  pale  stream  leaping 
in  full  cascades  from  a  crescent-shaped  niche  of  the 
gray  rocks  of  Egere,  that  Morhange  stopped.  The 
unlocked  for  waters  rolled  upon  the  sand,  and  we 
saw,  in  the  light  which  mirrored  them,  little 
black  fish.  Fish  in  the  middle  of  the  Sahara ! 
All  three  of  us  were  mute  before  this  para- 
dox of  Nature.  One  of  them  had  strayed  into  a 
little  channel  of  sand.  He  had  to  stay  there,  strug- 
gling in  vairt,  his  little  white  belly  exposed  to  the 
air.  .  .  .  Morhange  picked  him  up,  looked  at  him 
for  a  moment,  and  put  him  back  into  the  little 
stream.  Shades  of  St.  Francis.  Umbrian  hills.  .  .  . 
But  I  have  sworn  not  to  break  the  thread  of  the 
story  by  these  untimely  digressions. 

"You  see,"  Captain  Morhange  said  to  me  a  week 
later,  "that  I  was  right  in  advising  you  to  go  farther 
south  before  making  for  Shikh-Salah.  Something 
told  me  that  this  highland  of  Egere  was  not  interest- 
ing from  your  point  of  view.  While  here  you  have 
only  to  stoop  to  pick  up  pebbles  which  will  allow 
you  to  establish  the  volcanic  origin  of  this  region 


TOWARDS     L  AT  ITU  DP.     25      59 

much  more  certainly  than  Bou-Derba,  des  Cloizeaux, 
and  Doctor  Marres  have  done." 

This  was  while  we  were  following  the  western 
pass  of  the  Tidifest  Mountains,  about  the  25th  de- 
gree of  northern  latitude. 

"I  should  indeed  be  ungrateful  not  to  thank  you," 
I  said. 

I  shall  always  remember  that  instant.  We  had 
left  our  camels  and  were  collecting  fragments  of  the 
most  characteristic  rocks.  Morhange  employed  him- 
self with  a  discernment  which  spoke  worlds  for  his 
knowledge  of  geology,  a  science  he  had  often  pro- 
fessed complete  ignorance  of. 

Then  I  asked  him  the  following  question: 
"May  I  prove  my  gratitude  by  making  you  a  con- 
fession?" 

He  raised  his  head  and  looked  at  me. 
"Well  then,  I  don't  see  the  practical  value  of  this 
trip  you  have  undertaken." 
He  smiled. 

"Why  not?  To  explore  the  old  caravan  route, 
to  demonstrate  that  a  connection  has  existed  from 
the  most  ancient  times  between  the  Mediterranean 
world,  and  the  country  of  the  Blacks,  that  seems 
nothing  in  your  eyes?  The  hope  of  settling  once  for 
all  the  secular  disputes  which  have  divided  so  many 
keen  minds;  d'Anville,  Heeren,  Berlioux,  Quatre- 
mere  on  the  one  hand, — on  the  other  Gosselin, 
Walckenaer,   Tissit,    Vivien,    de   saint-Martin;   vou 


6o  ATLANTIDA 

think  that  that  is  devoid  of  interest?    A  plague  upon 
you  for  being  hard  to  please." 

"I  spoke  of  practical  value,"  I  said.  "You  won't 
deny  that  this  controversy  is  only  the  affair  of  cabi- 
net geographers  and  office  explorers." 

Morhange  kept  on  smiling. 

"Dear  friend,  don't  wither  me.  Deign  to  recall 
that  your  mission  was  confided  to  you  by  the  Min- 
istry of  War,  while  I  hold  mine  on  behalf  of  the 
Ministry  of  Public  Instruction.  A  different  origin 
justifies  our  different  aims.  It  certainly  explains,  I 
readily  concede  that  to  you,  why  what  I  am  in  search 
of  has  no  practical  value." 

"You  are  also  authorized  by  the  Ministry  of  Com- 
merce," I  replied,  playing  my  next  card.  "By  this 
chief  you  are  instructed  to  study  the  possibility  of 
restoring  the  old  trade  route  of  the  ninth  century. 
But  on  this  point  don't  attempt  to  mislead  me;  with 
your  knowledge  of  the  history  and  geography  of  the 
Sahara,  your  mind  must  have  been  made  up  before 
you  left  Paris.  The  road  from  Djerid  to  the  Niger 
is  dead,  stone  dead.  You  knew  that  no  important 
traffic  would  pass  by  this  route  before  you  undertook 
to  study  the  possibility  of  restoring  it." 

Morhange  looked  me  full  in  the  face. 

"And  if  that  should  be  so,"  he  said  with  the  most 
charming  attitude,  "if  I  had  before  leaving  the  con- 
viction you  say,  what  do  you  conclude  from  that?" 

"I  should  prefer  to  have  you  tell  me." 


TOWARDS     LATITUDE    25      6i 

"Simply,  my  dear  boy,  that  I  had  less  skill  than 
you  in  finding  the  pretext  for  my  voyage,  that  I  fur- 
nished less  good  reasons  for  the  true  motives  that 
brought  me  here." 

*'A  pretext?    I  don't  see  .  .  ." 

"Be  sincere  in  your  turn,  if  you  please.  I  am  sure 
that  you  have  the  greatest  desire  to  inform  the 
Arabian  Office  about  the  practices  of  the  Senouissis. 
But  admit  that  the  information  that  you  will  obtain 
is  not  the  sole  and  innermost  aim  of  your  excursion. 
You  are  a  geologist,  my  friend.  You  have  found 
a  chance  to  gratify  your  taste  in  this  trip.  No  one 
would  think  of  blaming  you  because  you  have  known 
how  to  reconcile  what  Is  useful  to  your  country  and 
agreeable  to  yourself.  But,  for  the  love  of  God, 
don't  deny  it;  I  need  no  other  proof  than  your  pres- 
ence here  on  this  side  of  the  Tidifest,  a  very  curi- 
ous place  from  a  mineralogical  point  of  view,  but 
some  hundred  and  fifty  kilometers  south  of  your 
official  route." 

It  was  not  possible  to  have  countered  me  with  a 
better  grace.     I  parried  by  attacking. 

"Am  I  to  conclude  from  all  this  that  I  do  not  know 
the  real  aims  of  your  trip,  and  that  they  have  noth- 
ing to  do  with  the  official  motives?" 

I  had  gone  a  bit  too  far.  I  felt  It  from  the  seri- 
ousness with  which  Morhange's  reply  was  delivered. 

"No,  my  dear  friend,  you  must  not  conclude  just 
that.     I   should  have  no  taste   for  a  lie  which  was 


62  ATLANTIDA 

based  on  fraud  towards  the  estimable  constitutional 
bodies  which  have  judged  me  worthy  of  their  con- 
fidence and  their  support.  The  ends  that  they  have 
assigned  to  me  I  shall  do  my  best  to  attain.  But 
I  have  no  reason  for  hiding  from  you  that  there  is 
another,  quite  personal,  which  is  far  nearer  to  my 
heart.  Let  us  say,  if  you  will,  to  use  a  terminology 
that  is  otherwise  deplorable,  that  this  is  the  end  while 
the  others  are  the  means." 

"Would  there  be  any  indiscretion?  .   .   ." 

"None,"  replied  my  companion.  "Shikh-Salah  is 
only  a  few  days  distant.  He  whose  first  steps  you 
have  guided  with  such  solicitude  in  the  desert  should 
have  nothing  hidden  from  you." 

We  had  halted  in  the  valley  of  a  little  dry  well 
where  a  few  sickly  plants  were  growing.  A  spring 
near  by  was  circled  by  a  crown  of  gray  verdure. 
The  camels  had  been  unsaddled  for  the  night,  and 
were  seeking  vainly,  at  every  stride,  to  nibble  the 
spiny  tufts  of  had.  The  black  and  polished  sides  of 
the  Tidifest  Mountains  rose,  almost  vertically, 
above  our  heads.  Already  the  blue  smoke  of  the  fire 
on  which  Bou-Djema  was  cooking  dinner  rose 
through  the  motionless  air. 

Not  a  sound,  not  a  breath.  The  smoke  mounted 
straight,  straight  and  slowly  up  the  pale  steps  of  the 
firmament. 

"Have  you  ever  heard  of  the  Atlas  of  Christi- 
anity?" asked  Morhange. 


TOWARDS     LA  7^  I  T  U  D  E    25      63 

"I  think  so.  Isn't  it  a  geographical  work  pub- 
lished by  the  Benedictines  under  the  direction  of  a 
certain  Dom  Granger?" 

"Your  memory  is  correct,"  said  Morhange. 
"Even  so  let  me  explain  a  little  more  fully  some  of 
the  things  you  have  not  had  as  much  reason  as  I 
to  interest  yourself  in.  The  /Itlas  of  Christianity 
proposes  to  establish  the  boundaries  of  that  great 
tide  of  Christianity  through  all  the  ages,  and  for  all 
parts  of  the  globe.  An  undertaking  worthy  of  the 
Benedictine  learning,  worthy  of  such  a  prodigy  of 
erudition  as  Dom  Granger  himself." 

"And  it  is  these  boundaries  that  you  have  come  to 
determine  here,  no  doubt,"  I  murmured. 

"Just  so,"  replied  my  companion. 

He  was  silent,  and  I  respected  his  silence,  pre- 
pared by  now  to  be  astonished  at  nothing. 

"It  is  not  possible  to  give  confidences  by  halves, 
without  being  ridiculous,"  he  continued  after  several 
minutes  of  meditation,  speaking  gravely,  in  a  voice 
which  held  no  suggestion  of  that  flashing  humor 
which  had  a  month  before  enchanted  the  young  offi- 
cers at  Wargla.  "I  have  begim  on  mine.  I  will 
tell  you  everything.  Trust  my  discretion,  however, 
and  do  not  insist  upon  certain  events  of  my  private 
life.  If,  four  years  ago,  at  the  close  of  these  events, 
I  resolved  to  enter  a  monastery,  it  does  not  concern 
you  to  know  my  reasons.  I  can  marvel  at  it  myself, 
that  the  passage  in  my  life  of  a  being  absolutely  de- 


64  ATLANTIDA 

void  of  interest  should  have  sufficed  to  change  the 
current  of  that  Hfe.  I  can  marvel  that  a  creature 
whose  sole  merit  was  her  beauty  should  have  been 
permitted  by  the  Creator  to  swing  my  destiny  to  such 
an  unforeseen  direction.  The  monastery  at  whose 
doors  I  knocked  had  the  most  valid  reasons  for 
doubting  the  stability  of  my  vocation.  What  the 
world  loses  in  such  fashion  it  often  calls  back  as 
readily.  In  short,  I  cannot  blame  the  Father  Abbot 
for  having  forbidden  me  to  apply  for  my  army  dis- 
charge. By  his  instructions,  I  asked  for,  and  ob- 
tained, permission  to  be  placed  on  the  inactive  list 
for  three  years.  At  the  end  of  those  three  years 
of  consecration  it  would  be  sedn  whether  the  world 
was  definitely  dead  to  your  servant. 

"The  first  day  of  my  arrival  at  the  cloister  I  was 
assigned  to  Dom  Granger,  and  placed  by  him  at 
work  on  the  Atlas  of  Christianity.  A  brief  exami- 
nation decided  him  as  to  what  kind  of  service  I  was 
best  fitted  to  render.  This  is  how  I  came  to  enter 
the  studio  devoted  to  the  cartography  of  Northern 
Africa.  I  did  not  know  one  word  of  Arabic,  but  it 
happened  that  in  garrison  at  Lyon  I  had  taken  at 
the  Faculte  des  Lettres,  a  course  with  Berlioux, — a 
very  erudite  geographer  no  doubt,  but  obsessed  by 
one  idea,  the  influence  the  Greek  and  Roman  civili- 
zations had  exercised  on  Africa.  This  detail  of  my 
life  was  enough  for  Dom  Granger.  He  provided  me 
straightway  with  Berber  vocabularies  by  Venture, 


I 


TOWARDS     LATITUDE     25      65 

by  Dclaportc,  by  Brossclard;  with  the  Gramviat'.cal 
Sketch  of  the  Tcmahaq  by  Stanley  Fleeman,  and 
the  Essai  de  Grauntuiire  de  la  langue  Tcmachek 
by  Major  Hanotcau.  At  the  end  of  three  months 
I  was  able  to  decipher  any  inscriptions  in  Tifinar. 
You  know  that  Tifinar  is  the  national  writing  of  the 
Tuareg,  the  expression  of  this  Terachek  language 
which  seems  to  us  the  most  curious  protest 
of  the  Targui  race  against  its  Mohammedan 
enemies. 

"Dom  Granger,  in  fact,  believed  that  the  Tuareg 
are  Christians,  dating  from  a  period  which  it  was 
necessary  to  ascertain,  but  which  coincided  no  doubt 
with  the  splendor  of  the  church  of  Hippon.  Even 
better  than  I,  you  know  that  the  cross  is  with  them 
the  symbol  of  fate  in  decoration,  Duveyrier  has 
claimed  that  it  figures  in  their  alphabet,  on  their 
arms,  among  the  designs  of  their  clothes.  The  only 
tattooing  that  they  wear  on  the  forehead,  on  the  back 
of  the  hand,  is  a  cross  with  four  equal  branches; 
the  pummels  of  their  saddles,  the  handles  of  their 
sabres,  of  their  poignards,  are  cross-shaped.  And 
is  it  necessary  to  remind  you  that,  although  Islam 
forbids  bells  as  a  sign  of  Christianity,  the  harness 
of  Tuareg  camels  are  trimmed  with  bells? 

^'Neither  Dom  Granger  nor  I  attach  an  exagger- 
ated importance  to  such  proofs,  which  resemble  too 
much  those  which  make  such  a  display  in  the  Genius 
of  Christianity.     But  it  is  indeed  impossible  to  refuse 


66  ATLANTIDA 

all  credence  to  certain  theological  arguments.  Ama- 
nai,  the  God  of  the  Tuareg,  unquestionably  the 
Adonai  of  the  Bible,  is  unique.  They  have  a  hell, 
'Timsi-tan-elekhaft,'  the  last  fire,  where  reigns  Iblis, 
our  Lucifer.  Their  Paradise,  where  they  are  re- 
warded for  good  deeds,  is  inhabited  by  'andjelou- 
sen,'  our  angels.  And  do  not  urge  the  resemblance 
of  this  theology  to  the  Koran,  for  I  will  meet  you 
with  historic  arguments  and  remind  you  that  the 
Tuareg  have  struggled  all  through  the  ages  at  the 
cost  of  partial  extermination,  to  maintain  their  faith 
against  the  encroachments  of  Mohammedan  fanati- 
cism. 

"Many  times  I  have  studied  with  Dom  Granger 
that  formidable  epoch  when  the  aborigines  opposed 
the  conquering  Arabs.  With  him  I  have  seen  how 
the  army  of  Sidi-Okba,  one  of  the  companions  of  the 
Prophet,  invaded  this  desert  to  reduce  the  Tuareg 
tribes  and  impose  on  them  Musselman  rules.  These 
tribes  were  then  rich  and  prosperous.  They  were 
the  Ihbggaren,  the  Imededren,  the  Ouadelen,  the 
Kel-Gueress,  the  Kel-Air.  But  internal  quarrels 
sapped  their  strength.  Still,  it  was  not  until  after  a 
long  and  cruel  war  that  the  Arabians  succeeded  in 
getting  possession  of  the  capital  of  the  Berbers, 
which  had  proved  such  a  redoubtable  stronghold. 
They  destroyed  it  after  they  had  massacred  the  in- 
habitants. On  the  ruins  Okba  constructed  a  new 
city.    This  city  is  Es-Souk.    The  one  that  Sidi-Okba 


TOWARDS     LATITUDE    2  5      67 

destroyed  was  the  Berber  Tadmekka.  What  Dom 
Granger  asked  of  me  was  precisely  that  I  should  try 
to  exhume  from  the  ruins  of  the  Musselman  Es-Souk 
the  ruins  of  Tadmekka,  which  was  Berber,  and  per- 
haps Christian, 

"I  understand,"  I  murmured. 

"So  far,  so  good,"  said  Morhange.  "But  what 
you  must  grasp  now  is  the  practical  sense  of  these  re- 
ligious men,  my  masters.  You  remember  that,  even 
after  three  years  of  monastic  life,  they  preserved 
their  doubts  as  to  the  stability  of  my  vocation.  They 
found  at  the  same  time  means  of  testing  it  once  for 
all,  and  of  adapting  official  facilities  to  their  particu- 
lar purposes.  One  morning  I  was  called  before  the 
Father  Abbot,  and  this  is  what  he  said  to  me,  in  the 
presence  of  Dom  Granger,  who  expressed  silent  ap- 
proval. 

"  'Your  term  of  Inactive  service  expires  in  fifteen 
days.  You  will  return  to  Paris,  and  apply  at  the 
Ministry  to  be  reinstated.  With  what  you  have 
learned  here,  and  the  relationships  we  have  been 
able  to  maintain  at  Headquarters,  you  will  have  no 
difficulty  in  being  attached  to  the  Geographical  Staff 
of  the  army.  When  you  reach  the  rue  de  Grenelle 
you  will  receive  our  instructions.' 

"I  was  astonished  at  their  confidence  in  my  knowl- 
edge. When  I  was  reestablished  as  Captain  again 
in  the  Geographical  Service  I  understood.  At  the 
monastery,  the  daily  association  with  Dom  Granger 


68  ATLANTIDA 

and  his  pupils  had  kept  me  constantly  con- 
vinced of  the  inferiority  of  my  knowledge.  When 
I  came  in  contact  with  my  military  brethren  I  real- 
ized the  superiority  of  the  instruction  I  had  received. 
I  did  not  have  to  concern  myself  with  the  details  of 
my  mission.  The  Ministries  invited  me  to  under- 
take it.  My  initiative  asserted  itself  on  only  one  oc- 
casion. When  I  learned  that  you  were  going  to 
leave  Wargla  on  the  present  expedition,  having 
reason  to  distrust  my  practical  qualifications  as  an 
explorer,  I  did  my  best  to  retard  your  departure, 
so  that  I  might  join  you.  I  hope  that  you  have  for- 
given me  by  now." 

The  light  in  the  west  was  fading,  where  the  sun 
had  already  sunk  into  a  matfchless  luxury  of  violet 
draperies.  We  were  alone  in  this  immensity,  at  the 
feet  of  the  rigid  black  rocks.  Nothing  but  ourselves. 
Nothing,  nothing  but  ourselves. 

I  held  out  my  hand  to  Morhange,  and  he  pressed 
it.    Then  he  said: 

"If  they  still  seem  infinitely  long  to  me,  the  several 
thousand  kilometers  which  separate  me  from  the  in- 
stant when,  my  task  accomplished,  I  shall  at  last 
find  oblivion  in  the  cloister  for  the  things  for  which 
I  was  not  made,  let  me  tell  you  this; — the  several 
hundred  kilometers  which  still  separate  us  from 
Shikh-Salah  seem  to  me  infinitely  short  to  traverse 
in  your  company." 


TOWARDS     L  A  7  I  1^  U  D  1 .     2  5       69 

On  the  pale  water  of  the  little  pool,  motionless  and 
fixed  like  a  silv^er  nail,  a  star  had  just  been  born. 

"Shikh-Salah,"  I  murmured,  my  heart  full  of  an 
indefinable  sadness.  "Patience,  we  are  not  there 
yet." 

In  truth,  we  never  were  to  be  there. 


CHAPTER  V 


THE    INSCRIPTION 


With  a  blow  of  the  tip  of  his  cane  Morhange 
knocked  a  fragment  of  rock  from  the  black  flank  of 
the  mountain. 

"What  Is  It?"  he  asked,  holding  It  out  to  me. 

"A  basaltic  peridot,"  I  said. 

"It  can't  be  very  Interesting,  you  barely  glanced 
at  it." 

"It  Is  very  Interesting,  on  the  contrary.  But,  for 
the  moment,  I  admit  that  I  am  otherwise  preoccu- 
pied." 

"How?" 

"Look  this  way  a  bit,"  I  said,  showing  towards 
the  west,  on  the  horizon,  a  black  spot  across  the 
white  plain. 

It  was  six  o'clock  in  the  morning.  The  sun  had 
risen.  But  it  could  not  be  found  in  the  surprisingly 
polished  air.  And  not  a  breath  of  air,  not  a  breath. 
Suddc^nly  one  of  the  camels  called.  An  enormous 
antelope  had  just  come  in  sight,  and  had  stopped  in 
its  flight,  terrified,  facing  the  wall  of  rock.  It  stayed 
there  at  a  little  distance  from  us,  dazed,  trembling 
on  its  slender  legs. 

70 


THE     INSCRIPTION  71 

Bou-Djema  had  rejoined  us. 

"When  the  legs  of  the  mohor  tremble  it  is  because 
the  firmament  is  shaken,"  he  muttered. 

"A  storm?" 

*'Yes,  a  storm." 

"And  you  find  that  alarming?" 

I  did  not  answer  immediately.  I  was  exchanging 
several  brief  words  with  Bou-Djema,  who  was  oc- 
cupied in  soothing  the  camels  which  were  giving 
signs  of  being  restive. 

Morhange  repeated  his  question.  I  shrugged  my 
shoulders. 

"Alarming?  I  don't  know.  I  have  never  seen  a 
storm  on  the  Hoggar.  But  I  distrust  it.  And  the 
signs  are  that  this  is  going  to  be  a  big  one.  See  there 
already." 

A  slight  dust  had  risen  before  the  cliff.  In  the 
still  air  a  few  grains  of  sand  had  begun  to  whirl 
round  and  round,  with  a  speed  which  increased  to 
dizziness,  giving  us  in  advance  the  spectacle  in  minia- 
ture of  what  would  soon  be  breaking  upon  us. 

With  harsh  cries  a  flock  of  wild  geese  appeared, 
flying  low.    They  came  out  of  the  west. 

"They  are  fleeing  towards  the  Sebkha  d'Amang- 
hor,"  said  Bou-Djema. 

There  could  be  no  greater  mistake,  I  thought. 

Morhange  looked  at  me  curiously. 

"What  must  we  do?"  he  asked. 

"Mount  our  camels  immediately,  before  they  are 


72  ATLANTIDA 

completely  demoralized,  and  hurry  to  find  shelter 
In  some  high  places.  Take  account  of  our  situation. 
It  is  easy  to  follow  the  bed  of  a  stream.  But  with- 
in a  quarter  of  an  hour  perhaps  the  storm  will 
have  burst.  Within  a  half  hour  a  perfect  torrent 
will  be  rushing  here.  On  this  soil,  which  is  almost 
impermeable,  rain  will  roll  like  a  pail  of  water 
thrown  on  a  bituminous  pavement.  No  depth,  all 
height.    Look  at  this." 

And  I  showed  him,  a  dozen  meters  high,  long 
hollow  gouges,  marks  of  former  erosians  on  the 
rocky  wall. 

"In  an  hour  the  waters  will  reach  that  height. 
Those  are  the  marks  of  the  last  inundation.  Let  us 
get  started.     There  is  not  an  instant  to  lose," 

"All  right,"  Morhange  replied  tranquilly. 

We  had  the  greatest  difficulty  to  make  the  camels 
kneel.  When  we  had  thrown  ourselves  into  the  sad- 
dle they  started  off  at  a  pace  which  their  terror  ren- 
dered more  and  more  disorderly. 

Of  a  sudden  the  wind  began,  a  formidable  wind, 
and  almost  at  the  same  time  the  light  was  eclipsed 
In  the  ravine.  Above  our  heads  the  sky  had  become, 
in  the  flash  of  an  eye,  darker  than  the  walls  of  the 
canyon  which  we  were  descending  at  a  breathless 
pace. 

"A  path,  a  stairway  in  the  wall,"  I  screamed 
against  the  wind  to  my  companions.  "If  we  don't 
find  one  In  a  minute  we  are  lost." 


THE     INSCRIPTION  73 

They  did  not  hear  ine,  but,  turning  In  my  saddle, 
J  saw  that  they  had  lost  no  distance,  Morhange  fol- 
lowing me,  and  Bou-Djcma  In  the  rear  driving  the 
two  baggage  camels  masterfully  before  him. 

A  blinding  streak  of  lightning  rent  the  obscurity. 
A  peal  of  thunder,  re-echoed  to  infinity  by  the  rocky 
wall,  rang  out,  and  immediately  great  tepid  drops 
began  to  fall.  In  an  instant,  our  burnouses,  which 
had  been  blown  out  behind  by  the  speed  with  which 
we  were  traveling,  were  stuck  tight  to  our  streaming 
bodies. 

"Saved!"  I  exclaimed  suddenly. 

Abruptly  on  our  right  a  crevice  opened  in  the 
midst  of  the  wall.  It  was  the  almost  perpendicular 
bed  of  a  stream,  an  affluent  of  the  one  we  had  had 
the  unfortunate  idea  of  following  that  morning.  Al- 
ready a  veritable  torrent  was  gushing  over  it  with 
a  fine  uproar. 

I  have  never  better  appreciated  the  incomparable 
surefootedness  of  camels  in  the  most  precipitate 
places.  Bracing  themselves,  stretching  out  their 
great  legs,  balancing  themselves  among  the  rocks 
that  were  beginning  to  be  swept  loose,  our  camels 
accomplished  at  that  moment  what  the  mules  of  the 
Pyrannees  might  have  failed  in. 

After  several  moments  of  superhuman  effort  we 
found  ourselves  at  last  out  of  danger,  on  a  kind  of 
basaltic  terrace,  elevated  some  fifty  meters  above  the 
channel  of  the  stream  we  had  just  left.     Luck  was 


74  ATLANTIDA 

with  us;  a  little  grotto  opened  out  behind.  Bou- 
Djema  succeeded  in  sheltering  the  camels  there. 
From  its  threshold  we  had  leisure  to  contemplate  in 
silence  the  prodigious  spectacle  spread  out  before 
us. 

You  have,  I  believe,  been  at  the  Camp  of  Chalons 
for  artillery  drills.  You  have  seen  when  the  shell 
bursts  how  the  chalky  soil  of  the  Marne  effervesces 
like  the  inkwells  at  school,  when  we  used  to  throw 
a  piece  of  calcium  carbonate  into  them.  Well,  it  was 
almost  like  that,  but  in  the  midst  of  the  desert,  in 
the  midst  of  obscurity.  The  white  waters  rushed 
into  the  depths  of  the  black  hole,  and  rose  and  rose 
towards  the  pedestal  on  which  we  stood.  And  there 
was  the  uninterrupted  noise  of  thunder,  and  still 
louder,  the  sound  of  whole  walls  of  rock,  under-  » 
mined  by  the  flood,  collapsing  in  a  heap  and  dissolv- 
ing in  a  few  seconds  of  time  iii  the  midst  of  the  ris- 
ing water. 

All  the  time  that  this  deluge  lasted,  one  hour,  per- 
haps two,  Morhange  and  I  stayed  bending  over  this 
fantastic  foaming  vat;  anxious  to  see,  to  see  every- 
thing, to  see  in  spite  of  everything;  rejoicing  with  a 
kind  of  ineffable  horror  when  we  felt  the  shelf  of 
basalt  on  which  we  had  taken  refuge  swaying  be- 
neath us  from  the  battering  impact  of  the  water.  I 
believe  that  never  for  an  instant  did  we  think,  so 
beautiful  it  was,  of  wishing  for  the  end  of  that  gi- 
gantic nightmare. 


tiil:    iNscinrTioN         75 

i^nally  a  ray  of  the  sun  shone  through.  Only 
then  did  we  look  at  each  other. 

Morhange  held  out  his  hand. 

"Thank  you,"  he  said  simply. 

And  he  added  with  a  smile: 

"To  be  drowned  In  the  very  middle  of  the  Sahara 
would  have  been  pretentious  and  ridiculous.  You 
have  saved  us,  thanks  to  your  power  of  decision, 
from  this  ver)'  paradoxical  end." 

Ah,  that  he  had  been  thrown  by  a  misstep  of  his 
camel  and  rolled  to  his  death  in  the  midst  of  the 
flood!  Then  what  followed  would  never  have  hap- 
pened. That  is  the  thought  that  comes  to  me  in 
hours  of  weakness.  But  I  have  told  you  that  I  pull 
myself  out  of  it  quickly.  No,  no,  I  do  not 
regret  it,  1  cannot  regret  it,  that  what  happened  did 
happen. 

Morhange  left  me  to  go  into  the  little  grotto, 
where  Bou-Djema's  camels  were  now  resting  com- 
fortably. I  stayed  alone,  watching  the  torrent  which 
was  continuously  rising  with  the  impetuous  inrush  of 
its  unbridled  tributaries.  It  had  stopped  raining. 
The  sun  shone  from  a  sky  that  had  renewed  its  blue- 
ness.  I  could  feel  the  clothes  that  had  a  moment 
before  been  drenching,  drying  upon  me  incredibly 
fast. 

A  hand  was  placed  on  my  shoulder.  Morhange 
was  again  beside  me. 


76  ATLANTIDA 

"Come  here,"  he  said. 

Somewhat  surprised,  I  followed  him.  We  went 
into  the  grotto. 

The  opening,  which  was  big  enough  to  admit  the 
camels,  made  it  fairly  light.  Morhange  led  me  up 
to  the  smooth  face  of  rock  opposite.  "Look,"  he 
said,  with  unconcealed  joy. 

"What  of  it?" 

"Don't  you  see?" 

"I  see  that  there  are  several  Tuareg  inscriptions," 
I  answered,  with  some  disappointment.  "But  I 
thought  I  had  told  you  that  I  read  Tifinar  writing 
A'ery  badly.  Are  these  writings  more  interesting 
than  the  others  we  have  come  upon  before?" 

"Look  at  this  one,"  said  Morhange.  There  was 
such  an  accent  of  triumph  in  his  tone  that  this  time  I 
concentrated  my  attention. 

I  looked  again. 

The  characters  of  the  inscription  were  arranged 
in  the  form  of  a  cross.  It  plays  such  an  important 
part  in  this  adventure  that  I  cannot  forego  retrac- 
ing it  for  you. 

I 
+ 


THE     INSCRIPTION  77 

It  was  designed  with  great  regularity,  and  the 
characters  were  cut  deep  into  the  rock.  Although 
T  knew  so  little  of  rock  inscriptions  at  that  time  I 
had  no  difficulty  in  recognizing  the  antiquity  of  this 
one, 

Morhange  became  more  and  more  radiant  as  he 
regarded  it. 

I  looked  at  him  questioningly. 

"Well,  what  hav^e  you  to  say  now?"  he  asked. 

"What  do  you  want  me  to  say?  I  tell  you  that 
I  can  barely  read  Tifinar." 

"Shall  I  help  you?"  he  suggested. 

This  course  in  Berber  writing,  after  the  emotions 
through  which  we  had  just  passed,  seemed  to  me  a 
little  inopportune.  But  Morhange  was  so  visibly 
delighted  that  I  could  not  dash  his  joy. 

"Very  well  then,"  began  my  companion,  as  much 
at  his  ease  as  if  he  had  been  before  a  blackboard, 
"what  will  strike  you  first  about  this  inscription  is 
its  repetition  in  the  form  of  a  cross.  That  is  to  say 
that  it  contains  the  same  word  twice,  top  to  bottom, 
and  right  to  left.  The  word  which  it  composes  has 
seven  letters  so  the  fourth  letter,  ^  ,  comes  natur- 
ally in  the  middle.  This  arrangement  which  is  unique 
in  Tifinar  writing,  is  already  remarkable  enough. 
But  there  is  better  still.     Now  we  will  read  it," 

Getting  it  wrong  three  times  out  of  seven  I  finally 
succeeded,  with  Morhange's  help,  in  spelling  the 
word. 


78  ATLAN7IDA 

"Have  you  got  it?"  asked  Morhange  when  I  had 
finished  my  task. 

"Less  than  ever,"  I  answered,  a  little  put  out; 
"a,  n,  t,  i,  n,  h,  a, — Antinha,  I  don't  know  that  word, 
or  anything  like  it,  in  all  the  Saharan  dialects  I  am 
familiar  with." 

Morhange  rubbed  his  hands  together.  His  satis- 
faction was  without  bounds. 

"You  have  said  it.  That  is  why  the  discovery  is 
unique." 

"Why?" 

"There  is  really  nothing,  either  in  Berber  or  in 
Arabian,  analogous  to  this  word." 

"Then?" 

"Then,  my  dear  friend,  we  are  in  the  presence  of 
a  foreign  word,  translated  into  Tifinar." 

"And  this  word  belongs,  according  to  your  theory, 
to  what  language? 

"You  must  realize  that  the  letter  e  does  not  exist 
in  the  Tifinar  alphabet.  It  has  here  been  replaced 
by  the  phonetic  sign  which  is  nearest  to  it, — h.  Re- 
store e  to  the  place  which  belongs  to  it  in  the  word, 
and  you  have " 

"Antinea." 

"  'Antinea,'  precisely.  We  find  ourselves  before  a 
Greek  vocable  reproduced  in  Tifinar.  And  I  think 
that  now  you  will  agree  with  me  that  my  find  has  a 
certain  interest." 

That    day   we    had    no    more    conferences    upon 


THF     INSCRIPTION  79 

texts.     A  loud  cry,  anguished,  terrifying,   rung  out. 

We  rushed  out  to  find  ;i  strange  spectacle  await- 
ing us. 

Although  the  sky  had  cleared  again,  the  torrent  of 
yellow  water  was  still  foaming  and  no  one  could  pre- 
dict when  it  would  fall.  In  mid-stream,  struggling 
desperately  in  the  current,  was  an  extraordinary 
mass,  gray  and  soft  and  swaying. 

But  what  at  the  first  glance  overwhelmed  us  with 
astonishment  was  to  see  Bou-Djema,  usually  so  calm, 
at  this  moment  apparently  beside  himself  with 
frenzy,  bounding  through  the  gullies  and  over 
the  rocks  of  the  ledge,  in  full  pursuit  of  the  ship- 
wreck. 

Of  a  sudden  I  seized  Morhange  by  the  arm.  The 
grayish  thing  was  alive.  A  pitiful  long  neck  emerged 
from  it  with  the  heartrending  cry  of  a  beast  in  de- 
spair. 

"The  fool,"  I  cried,  "he  has  let  one  of  our  beasts 
get  loose,  and  the  stream  is  carrying  it  away!" 

"You  are  mistaken,"  said  Morhange.  "Our 
camels  are  al!  in  the  cave.  The  one  Bou-Djema  is 
running  after  is  not  ours.  And  the  cry  of  anguish 
we  just  heard,  that  was  not  Bou-Djema  either.  Bou- 
Djema  is  a  brave  Chaamba  who  has  at  this 
moment  only  one  idea,  to  appropriate  the  intes- 
tate capital  represented  by  this  camel  in  the 
stream." 

"Who  gave  that  cry,  then?" 


8o  ATLANTIDA 

"Let  us  try,  if  you  like,  to  explore  up  this  stream 
that  our  guide  is  descending  at  such  a  rate." 

And  without  waiting  for  my  answer  he  had  al- 
ready set  out  through  the  recently  washed  gullies  of 
the  rocky  bank. 

At  that  moment  it  can  be  truly  said  that  Mor- 
hange  went  to  meet  his  destiny. 

I  followed  him.  We  had  the  greatest  difficulty  in 
proceeding  two  or  three  hundred  meters.  Finally  we 
saw  at  our  feet  a  little  rushing  brook  where  the  water 
was  falling  a  trifle. 

"See  there?"  said  Morhange. 

A  blackish  bundle  was  balancing  on  the  waves  ot 
the  creek. 

When  we  had  come  up  even  with  it  we  saw  that 
it  was  a  man  in  the  long  dark  blue  robes  of  the 
Tuareg. 

"Give  me  your  hand,"  said  Morhange,  "and  brace 
yourself  against  a  rock,  hard." 

He  was  very,  very  strong.  In  an  instant,  as  if  it 
were  child's  play,  he  had  brought  the  body  ashore. 

"He  is  still  alive,"  he  pronounced  with  satisfac- 
tion. "Now  it  is  a  question  of  getting  him  to  the 
grotto.  This  is  no  place  to  resuscitate  a  drowned 
man." 

He  raised  the  body  in  his  powerful  arms. 

"It  is  astonishing  how  little  he  weighs  for  a  man 
of  his  height." 

By  the  time  we  had  retraced  the  way  to  the  grotto 


T  hi:     inscription  Si 

the  man's  cotton  clothes  were  almost  dry.  But  the 
dye  had  run  plentifully,  and  it  was  an  indigo  man 
that  Morhange  was  trying  to  recall  to  life. 

When  I  had  made  him  swallow  a  quart  of  lum 
he  opened  his  eyes,  looked  at  the  two  of  us  with 
surprise,  then,  closing  them  again,  murmured  almost 
unintelligibly  a  phrase,  the  sense  of  which  we  did 
not  get  until  some  days  later: 

"Can  it  be  that  I  have  reached  the  end  of  my 
mission?" 

"What  mission  is  he  talking  about?"  I  said. 

"Let  him  recover  himself  completely,"  responded 
Morhange.  "You  had  better  open  some  preserved 
food.  With  fellows  of  this  build  you  don't  have  to 
observe  the  precautions  prescribed  for  drowned 
Europeans." 

It  was  indeed  a  species  of  giant,  whose  life  we 
had  just  saved.  His  face,  although  very  thin,  was 
regular,  almost  beautiful.  He  had  a  clear  skin  and 
little  beard.  His  hair,  already  white,  showed  him 
to  be  a  man  of  sixty  years. 

When  I  placed  a  tin  of  corned-beef  before  him  a 
light  of  voracious  joy  came  into  his  eyes.  The  tin 
contained  an  allowance  for  four  persons.  It  was 
empty  in  a  flash. 

"Behold,"  said  Morhange,  "a  robust  appetite. 
Now  we  can  put  our  questions  without  scruple." 

Already  the  Targa  had  placed  over  his  forehead 
and  face  the  blue  veil  prescribed  by  the  ritual.     He 


82  ATLANTIDA 

must  have  been  completely  famished  not  to  have  per- 
formed this  indispensable  formality  sooner.  There 
was  nothing  visible  now  but  the  eyes,  watching  us 
with  a  light  that  grew  steadily  more  sombre. 

"French  officers,"  he  murmured  at  last. 

And  he  took  Morhange's  hand,  and  having  placed 
it  against  his  breast,  carried  it  to  his  lips. 

Suddenly  an  expression  of  anxiety  passed  over  his 
face. 

"And  my  mehari?"  he  asked. 

I  explained  that  our  guide  was  then  employed  in 
trying  to  save  his  beast.  He  in  turn  told  us  how  it 
had  stumbled,  and  fallen  into  tl»e  current,  and  he 
himself,  in  trying  to  save  it,  had  been  knocked  over. 
His  forehead  had  struck  a  rock.  He  had  cried  out. 
After  that  he  remembered  nothing  more. 

"What  is  your  name?"  I  asked. 

"Eg-Anteouen." 

"What  tribe  do  you  belong  to?" 

"The  tribe  of  Kel-Tahat." 

"The  Kel-Tahats  are  the  serfs  of  the  tribe  of 
Kel-Rhela,  the  great  nobles  of  Hoggar?" 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  casting  a  side  glance  in  my 
direction.  It  seemed  that  such  precise  questions  on 
the  affairs  of  Ahygar  were  not  to  his  liking. 

"The  Kel-Tahats,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  are  es- 
tablished on  the  southwest  flank  of  Atakor.^    What 


1  Another    name,    in    the    Temahaq    language,    for    Ahaggar. 
(Note  by  M.  Leroux.) 


THE     INSCRIPTION  83 

v.'cre  you  doing,  so   far  from  your  home  territory 
when  we  saved  your  life?" 

"I  was  going,  by  way  of  Tit,  to  In-Saleh,"  he  said. 

"What  were  you  going  to  do  at  In-Saleh?" 

He  was  about  to  reply.  But  suddenly  we  saw  him 
tremble.  His  eyes  were  fixed  on  a  point  of  the  cav- 
ern. We  looked  to  see  what  it  was.  He  had  just 
seen  the  rock  inscription  which  had  so  delighted 
Morhange  an  hour  before. 

"Do  you  know  that?"  Morhange  asked  him  witii 
keen  curiosity. 

The  Targa  did  not  speak  a  word  but  his  eyes  had 
a  strange  light. 

"Do  you  know  that?"  insisted  Morhange. 

And  he  added: 

"Antinea?" 

"Antinea,"  repeated  the  man. 

And  he  was  silent. 

"Why  don't  you  answer  the  Captain?"  I  called 
out,  with  a  strange  feeling  of  rage  sweeping  over 
me. 

The  Targui  looked  at  me.  I  thought  that  he  was 
going  to  speak.  But  his  eyes  became  suddenly  hard. 
Under  the  lustrous  veil  I  saw  his  features  stiffening. 

Morhange  and  I  turned  around. 

On  the  threshold  of  the  cavern,  breathless,  dis- 
comfited, harassed  by  an  hour  of  vain  pursuit,  Bou- 
Djema  had  returned  to  us. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  DISASTER  OF  THE    LETTUCE 

As  Eg-Anteouen  and  Bou-Djema  came  face  to 
face,  I  fancied  that  both  the  Targa  and  the  Cham- 
baa  gave  a  sudden  start  which  each  immediately 
repressed.  It  was  nothing  more  than  a  fleeting  im- 
pression. Nevertheless,  it  was  enough  to  make  me 
resolve  that  as  soon  as  I  was  alone  with  our  guide, 
I  would  question  him  closely  concerning  our  new 
companion. 

The  beginning  of  the  day  had  been  wearisome 
enough.  We  decided,  therefore,  to  spend  the  rest 
of  it  there,  and  even  to  pass  the  night  in  the  cave, 
waiting  till  the  flood  had  completely  subsided. 

In  the  morning,  when  I  was  marking  our  day's 
march  upon  the  map,  Morhange  came  toward  me. 
I  noticed  that  his  manner  was  somewhat  restrained. 

"In  three  days,  we  shall  be  at  Shikh-Salah,"  I  said 
to  him.  ''Perhaps  by  the  evening  of  the  second  day, 
badly  as  the  camels  go." 

"Perhaps  we  shall  separate  before  then,"  he  mut- 
tered. 

84 


THE  DISASTER  OF  THE  LETTUCE       85 

"How  so?" 

"You  see,  I  have  changed  iny  itinerary  a  little.  I 
have  given  up  the  idea  of  going  straight  to  Timissao. 
First  I  should  like  to  make  a  little  excursion  into  the 
interior  of  the  Ahaggar  range." 

I  frowned: 

"What  is  this  new  idea?" 

As  I  spoke  I  looked  about  for  Eg-Anteouen,  whom 
I  had  seen  in  conversation  with  Morhange  the  pre- 
vious evening  and  several  minutes  before.  He  was 
quietly  mending  one  of  his  sandals  with  a  waxed 
thread  supplied  by  Bou-Djema.  He  did  not  raise 
his  head. 

"It  is  simply,"  explained  Morhange,  less  and  less 
at  his  ease,  "that  this  man  tells  me  there  are  similar 
inscriptions  in  several  caverns  in  western  Ahaggar. 
These  caves  are  near  the  road  that  he  has  to  take 
returning  home.  He  must  pass  by  Tit.  Now,  from 
Tit,  by  way  of  Silet,  is  hardly  two  hundred  kilo- 
meters. It  is  a  quasi-classic  route  ^  as  short  again 
as  the  one  that  I  shall  have  to  take  alone,  after  I 
leave  you,  from  Shikh-Salah  to  Timissao.  That  is 
in  part,  you  see,  the  reason  which  has  made  me  de- 
cide to  .   .  ." 

"In  part?  In  very  small  part,"  I  replied.  "But 
is  your  mind  absolutely  made  up?" 

1  The  route  and  the  stages  from  Tit  to  Timissao  were  actuall}' 
plotted  out,  as  early  as  1888,  by  Captain  Bissuel.  Les  Tuareg 
dc  I'Oiicst.  itineraries  i  and  10.     (Note  by  Jkl.  Leroux.) 


86  ATLANTIDA 

"It  Is,"  he  answered  me. 

"When  do  you  expect  to  leave  me?" 

"To-day.  The  road  vv^hich  Eg-Anteouen  proposes 
to  take  into  Ahaggar  crosses  this  one  about  four 
leagues  from  here.  I  have  a  favor  to  ask  of  you  in 
this  connection." 

"Please  tell  me." 

"It  is  to  let  me  take  one  of  the  two  baggage 
camels,  since  my  Targa  has  lost  his." 

"The  camel  which  carries  your  baggage  belongs 
to  you  as  much  as  does  your  own  mehari,"  I  answered 
coldly. 

We  stood  there  several  minutes  without  speaking. 
Morhange  maintained  an  uneasy  silence;  I  was  ex- 
amining my  map.  All  over  it  in  greater  or  less  de- 
gree, but  particularly  towards  the  south,  the  unex- 
plored portions  of  Ahaggar  stood  out  as  far  too 
numerous  white  patches  in  the  tan  area  of  supposed 
mountains. 

I  finally  said : 

"You  giv^e  me  your  word  that  when  you  have  seen 
these  famous  grottos,  you  will  make  straight  for 
Timissao  by  Tit  and  Silet?" 

He  looked  at  me  uncomprehendingly. 

"Why  do  you  ask  that?" 

"Because,  if  you  promise  me  that, — provided,  of 
course,  that  my  company  is  not  unwelcome  to  you — 
I  will  go  with  you.  Either  way,  I  shall  have  two 
hundred  kilometers  to  go.     I  shall  strike  for  Shikh- 


THE  DISASTER  OK  THE  LETTUCE       87 

Salah  from  the  south,  instead  of  from  the  west — 
that  Is  the  only  difference." 

Morhange  looked  at  me  with  emotion. 

"Why  do  you  do  this?"  he  murmured. 

•'My  dear  fellow,"  I  said  (it  was  the  first  time 
that  T  had  addressed  Morhange  in  this  familiar 
way) ,  "my  dear  fellow,  I  have  a  sense  which  becomes 
marvellously  acute  in  the  desert,  the  sense  of  danger. 
I  gave  you  a  slight  proof  of  it  yesterday  morning,  at 
the  coming  of  the  storm.  With  all  your  knowledge 
of  rock  inscriptions,  you  seem  to  me  to  have  no  very 
exact  idea  of  what  kind  of  place  Ahaggar  is,  nor  what 
may  be  in  store  for  you  there.  On  that  account,  T 
should  be  just  as  well  pleased  not  to  let  you  run 
sure  risks  alone." 

"I  have  a  guide,"  he  said  with  his  adorable  nai- 
vete. 

Eg-Anteouen,  in  the  same  squatting  position,  kept 
on  patching  his  old  slipper. 

I  took  a  step  toward  him. 

"You  heard  what  I  said  to  the  Captain?" 

"Yes,"  the  Targa  answered  calmly. 

"I  am  going  with  him.  We  leave  you  at  Tit,  to 
which  place  you  must  bring  us.  Where  is  the  place 
you  proposed  to  show  the  Captain?" 

"I  did  not  propose  to  show  it  to  him;  it  was  his 
own  idea,"  said  the  Targa  coldly.  "The  grottos  with 
the  inscriptions  are  three-days'  march  southward  in 
the  mountains.     At  first,  the  road  is  rather  rough. 


88  ATLANTIDA 

But  farther  on,  it  turns,  and  you  gain  Timissao  very 
easily.  There  are  good  wells  where  the  Tuareg 
Taitoqs,  who  are  friendly  to  the  French,  come  to 
water  their  camels." 

"And  you  know  the  road  well?" 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  His  eyes  had  a  scorn- 
ful smile. 

"I  have  taken  it  twenty  times,"  he  said. 

"In  that  case,  let's  get  started." 

We  rode  for  two  hours.  I  did  not  exchange  a 
word  with  Morhange.  I  had  a  clear  intuition  of  the 
folly  we  were  committing  in  risking  ourselves  so  un- 
concernedly in  that  least  known  and  most  dangerous 
part  of  the  Sahara.  Every  blow  which  had  been 
struck  In  the  last  twenty  years  to  undermine  the 
French  advance  had  come  from  this  redoubtable 
Ahaggar.  But  what  of  it?  It  was  of  my  own  will 
that  I  had  joined  in  this  mad  scheme.  No  need  of 
going  ov^er  it  again.  What  was  the  use  of  spoiling 
my  action  by  a  continual  exhibition  of  disapproval  ? 
And,  furthermore,  I  may  as  well  admit  that  I  rather 
liked  the  turn  that  our  trip  was  beginning  to  take. 
I  had,  at  that  instant,  the  sensation  of  journeying 
toward  something  Incredible,  toward  some  tremend- 
ous adventure.  You  do  not  live  with  impunity  for 
months  and  years  as  the  guest  of  the  desert.  Sooner 
or  later,  it  has  its  way  with  you,  annihilates  the  good 
officer,  the  timid  executive,  overthrows  his  solicitude 
for  his  responsibilities.     What  is  there  behind  those 


THE  DISASTER  OF  THE  LETTUCE       89 

mysterious  rocks,  those  dim  solitudes,  which  have 
held  at  bay  the  most  illustrious  pursuers  of  mys- 
tery?   You  follow,  I  tell  you,  you  follow. 

"Are  you  sure  at  least  that  this  inscription  is  In- 
teresting enough  to  justify  us  in  our  undertaking?" 
I  asked  Morhange. 

My  companion  started  with  pleasure.  Ever  since 
we  began  our  journey  I  had  realized  his  fear  that 
I  was  coming  along  half-heartedly.  As  soon  as  I 
offered  him  a  chance  to  convince  me,  his  scruples 
vanished,  and  his  triumph  seemed  assured  to  him. 

"Never,"  he  answered,  in  a  voice  that  he  tried 
to  control,  but  through  which  the  enthusiasm  rang 
out,  "never  has  a  Greek  inscription  been  found  so 
far  south.  The  farthest  points  where  they  have  been 
reported  are  in  the  south  of  Algeria  and  Cyrene. 
But  in  Ahaggar!  Think  of  it!  It  is  true  that  this 
one  is  translated  into  Tifinar.  But  this  peculiarity 
does  not  diminish  the  interest  of  the  coincidence:  it 
increases  it." 

"What  do  you  take  to  be  the  meaning  of  this 
word?" 

"Antinea  can  only  be  a  proper  name,"  said  Mor- 
hange. "To  whom  does  it  refer?  I  admit  I  don't 
know,  and  if  at  this  very  moment  I  am  marching 
toward  the  south,  dragging  you  along  with  me,  it  is 
because  I  count  on  learning  more  about  it.  Its  ety- 
mology?   It  hasn't  one  definitely,  but  there  are  thirty 


90  ATLANTIDA 

possibilities.  Bear  in  mind  that  the  Tifinar  alphabet 
is  far  from  tallying  with  the  Greek  alphabet,  which 
increases  the  number  of  hypotheses.  Shall  I  suggest 
several?" 

"I  was  just  about  to  ask  you  to." 

"To  begin  with,  there  is  olvtl  and  ^/av?  the 
woman  who  is  placed  opposite  a  vessel,  an  explana- 
tion which  would  have  been  pleasing  to  Gaffarel  and 
to  my  venerated  master  Berlioux.  That  would  apply 
well  enough  to  the  figure-heads  of  ships.  There  is 
a  technical  term  that  I  cannot  recall  at  this  moment, 
not  if  you  beat  me  a  hundred  times  over.^ 

"Then  there  is  avrivvja,  that  you  must  relate 
to  avTi  and  va6<;,  sJie  who  holds  herself  before 
the  vao?,  the  va6<;  of  the  temple,  she  who  is 
opposite  the  sanctuary,  therefore  priestess.  An  in- 
terpretation which  would  enchant  Girard  and  Renan. 

"Next  we  have  avTivi,  from  avri  and 
i/eos,  new,  which  can  mean  two  things :  either  she 
who  is  the  contrary  of  young,  which  is  to  say  old; 
or  she  who  is  the  enemy  of  novelty  or  the  enemy  of 
youth. 

There  is  still  another  sense  of  Vart,  in  ex- 
change for,  which  is  capable  of  complicating  all  the 
others  I  have  mentioned;  likewise  there  are  four 
meanings   for  the  verb  vio)  ,  which  means   in   turn 

1  It  is  perhaps  worth  noting  here  that  Figures  de  Prones 
is  the  exact  title  of  a  very  remarkable  collection  of  poems  by 
Mme.  Delarus-Mardrus,     (Note  by  M.  Leroux.) 


(Hi:  DISASTFR  OF  THE  LETTUCE       91 

to  yo,  to  flozv,  to  tlircad  or  zvt-ave,  to  heap.  'Ihere 
is  more  still.  .  .  .  And  notice,  please,  that  I  have 
not  at  my  disposition  on  the  otherwise  commodious 
hump  of  this  mehari,  either  the  great  dictionary  of 
Estienne  or  the  lexicons  of  Passow,  of  Pape,  or  of 
Liddel-Scott.  This  is  only  to  show  you,  my  dear 
friend,  that  epigraphy  is  but  a  reIati^'e  science,  al- 
ways dependent  on  the  discovery  of  a  new  text  which 
contradicts  the  previous  findings,  when  it  is  not 
merely  at  the  mercy  of  the  humors  of  the  epigraph- 
ists  and  their  pet  conceptions  of  the  universe.^ 

"That  was  rather  my  view  of  it,"  I  said.  "But 
I  must  admit  my  astonishment  to  find  that,  with  such 
a  sceptical  opinion  of  the  goal,  you  still  do  not  hesi- 
tate to  take  risks  which  may  be  quite  considerable." 

Morhange  smiled  wanly. 

"I  do  not  interpret,  my  friend;  I  collect.  From 
what  I  will  take  back  to  him,  Dom  Granger  has  the 
ability  to  draw  conclusions  which  are  beyond  my 
slight  knowledge.  I  was  amusing  myself  a  little. 
Pardon  me." 

Just  then  the  girth  of  one  of  the  baggage  camels, 
evidently  not  well  fastened,  came  loose.  Part  of  the 
load  slipped  and  fell  to  the  ground. 

^  Captain  Morhange  seems  to  have  forgotten  in  this  enumera- 
tion, in  places  fanciful,  the  etymology  of  dvOina,  a  Doric  dia- 
lect form  of  uvOivri,  from  av9og ,  a  flower,  and  which  would 
mean  which  is  in  flower.     (Note  by  M.  Leroux.) 


92  ATLANTIDA 

Eg-Anteouen  descended  instantly  from  his  beast 
and  helped  Bou-Djema  repair  the  damage. 

When  they  had  finished,  I  made  my  mehari  walk 
beside  Bou-Djema's. 

"It  will  be  better  to  resaddle  the  camels  at  the 
next  stop.     They  will  have  to  climb  the  mountain." 

The  guide  looked  at  me  with  amazement.  Up  to 
that  time  I  had  thought  it  unnecessary  to  acquaint 
him  with  our  new  projects.  But  I  supposed  Eg- 
Anteouen  would  have  told  him. 

"Lieutenant,  the  road  across  the  white  plain 
to  Shikh-Salah  is  not  mountainous,"  said  the 
Chaamba. 

"We  are  not  keeping  to  the  road  across  the  white 
plain.    We  are  going  south,  by  Ahaggar." 

"By  Ahaggar,"  he  murmured.     "But  .   .  ." 

"But  what?" 

"I  do  not  know  the  road." 

"Eg-Anteouen  is  going  to  guide  us." 

"Eg-Anteouen!" 

I  watched  Bou-Djema  as  he  made  this  suppressed 
ejaculation.  His  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  Targa  with 
a  mixture  of  stupor  and  fright. 

Eg-Anteouen's  camel  was  a  dozen  yards  ahead  of 
us,  side  by  side  with  Morhange's.  The  two  men 
were  talking.  I  realized  that  Morhange  must  be 
conversing  with  Eg-Anteouen  about  the  famous  in- 
scriptions. But  we  were  not  so  far  behind  that  they 
could  not  have  overheard  our  words. 


THE  DISASTER  OF  THE  LETTUCE      93 

Again  I  looked  at  my  guide.  I  saw  that  he  was 
pale. 

"What  is  it,  Bou-D]ema?"  I  asked  in  a  low  voice. 

"Not  here,   Lieutenant,  not  here,"   he  muttered. 

His  teeth  chattered.     He  added  in  a  whisper: 

"Not  here.  This  evening,  when  we  stop,  when  he 
turns  to  the  East  to  pray,  when  the  sun  goes  down. 
Then,  call  me  to  you.  I  will  tell  you.  .  .  .  But  not 
here.  He  is  talking,  but  he  is  listening.  Go  ahead. 
Join  the  Captain." 

"What  next?"  I  murmured,  pressing  my  camel's 
neck  with  my  foot  so  as  to  make  him  overtake  Mor- 
hange. 

It  was  about  five  o'clock  when  Eg-Anteouen  who 
was  leading  the  way,  came  to  a  stop. 

"Here  it  is,"  he  said,  getting  down  from  his 
camel. 

It  was  a  beautiful  and  sinister  place.  To  our 
left  a  fantastic  wall  of  granite  outlined  its  gray  ribs 
against  the  sky.  This  wall  was  pierced,  from  top 
to  bottom,  by  a  winding  corridor  about  a  thousand 
feet  high  and  scarcely  wide  enough  in  places  to  allow 
three  camels  to  walk  abreast. 

"Here  it  is,"  repeated  the  Targa. 

To  the  west,  straight  behind  us,  the  track  that  we 
were  leaving  unrolled  like  a  pale  ribbon.  The  white 
plain,  the  road  to  Shikh-Salah,  the  established  halts, 
the  well-known  wells.  .   .  .  And,  on  the  other  side, 


94       ;  A  T  L  A  N  T  I  D  A 

this  black  wall  against  the  mauve  sky,  this  dark  pas- 
sage. 

I  looked  at  Morhange. 

*'We  had  better  stop  here,"  he  said  simply.  "Eg- 
Anteouen  advises  us  to  take  as  much  water  here  as 
we  can  carry." 

With  one  accord  we  decided  to  spend  the  night 
there,  before  undertaking  the  mountain. 

There  was  a  spring,  in  a  dark  basin,  from  which 
fell  a  little  cascade;  there  were  a  few  shrubs,  a  fcvv 
plants. 

Already  the  camels  were  browsing  at  the  length  of 
their  tethers. 

Bou-Djema  arranged  our  camp  dinner  service  of 
tin  cups  and  plates  on  a  great  flat  stone.  An  opened 
tin  of  meat  lay  beside  a  plate  of  lettuce  which  he  had 
just  gathered  from  the  moist  earth  around  the 
spring.  I  could  tell  from  the  distracted  manner  in 
which  he  placed  these  objects  upon  the  rock  how 
deep  was  his  anxiety. 

As  he  was  bending  toward  me  to  hand  me  a  plate, 
he  pointed  to  the  gloomy  black  corridor  which  we 
were  about  to  enter. 

"Blad-el-Khouf!"  he  murmured. 

"What  did  he  say?"  asked  Morhange,  who  had 
seen  the  gesture. 

" Blad-el-Khouf .  This  is  the  country  of  fear. 
That  is  what  the  Arabs  call  Ahaggar." 

Bou-Djema  went  a  little  distance  off  and  sat  down, 


TlIK   DISASTER  OF  THE  LETTUCE       95 

Icaving  us  to  our  dinner.  Squatting;  on  Ills  heels,  he 
began  to  eat  a  few  lettuce  leaves  that  he  had  kept 
for  his  own  meal. 

Eg-Anteouen  was  still  motionless. 

Suddenly  the  Targa  rose.  The  sun  in  the  west 
was  no  larger  than  a  red  brand.  We  saw  Eg-An- 
teouen approach  the  fountain,  spread  his  blue  burn- 
ous on  the  ground  and  kneel  upon  it. 

"1  did  not  suppose  that  the  Tuareg  were  so  ob- 
servant of  Mussulman  tradition,"  said  Morhange. 

"Nor  I,"  I  replied  thoughtfully. 

But  I  had  something  to  do  at  that  moment  besides 
making  such  speculations. 

"Bou-Djema,"  I  called. 

At  the  same  time,  I  looked  at  Eg-Anteouen.  Ab- 
sorbed in  his  prayer,  bowed  toward  the  west,  appar- 
ently he  was  paying  no  attention  to  me.  As  he  pros- 
trated himself,  I  called  again. 

"Bou-Djema,  come  with  me  to  my  mehari;  I  want 
to  get  something  out  of  the  saddle  bags." 

Still  kneeling,  Eg-Anteouen  v.-as  mumbling  his 
prayer  slowly,  composedly. 

But  Bou-Djema  had  not  budged. 

His  only  response  was  a  deep  moan. 

Morhange  and  I  leaped  to  our  feet  and  ran  to  the 
guide.     Eg-Anteouen  reached  him  as  soon  as  we  did. 

With  his  eyes  closed  and  his  limbs  already  cold, 
the  Chaamba  breathed  a  death  rattle  in  Morhange's 
arms.     I  had  seized  one  of  his  hands.    Eg-Anteouen 


96  ATLANTIDA 

took  the  other.     Each,  in  his  own  way,  was  trying 
to  divine,  to  understand.   .  .  . 

Suddenly  Eg-Anteouen  leapt  to  his  feet.  He  had 
just  seen  the  poor  embossed  bowl  which  the  Arab 
had  held  an  instant  before  between  his  knees,  and 
which  now  lay  overturned  upon  the  ground. 

He  picked  it  up,  looked  quickly  at  one  after  an- 
other of  the  leaves  of  lettuce  remaining  in  it,  and 
then  gave  a  hoarse  exclamation. 

"So,"  said  Morhange,  "it's  his  turn  now;  he  is 
going  to  go  mad." 

Watching  Eg-Anteouen  closely,  I  saw  him  hasten 
without  a  word  to  the  rock  where  our  dinner  was 
set,  a  second  later,  he  was  again  beside  us,  hold- 
ing out  the  bowl  of  lettuce  which  he  had  not  yet 
touched. 

Then  he  took  a  thick,  long,  pale  green  leaf  from 
Bou-Djema's  bowl  and  held  it  beside  another  leaf 
he  had  just  taken  from  our  bowl. 

"Afahlehle,"  was  all  he  said. 

I  shuddered,  and  so  did  Morhange.  It  was  the 
afahlehla,  the  falestez,  of  the  Arabs  of  the  Sahara, 
the  terrible  plant  which  had  killed  a  part  of  the  Flat- 
ters mission  more  quickly  and  surely  than  Tuareg 
arms. 

Eg-Anteouen  stood  up.  His  tall  silhouette  was 
outlined  blackly  against  the  sky  which  suddenly  had 
turned  pale  lilac.     He  was  watching  us. 

We  bent  again  over  the  unfortunate  guide. 


THE  DISASTER  OF  THE  LETTUCJ-:       97 

"Afahlchlc,"  the  Targa  repeated,  and  shook  his 
head. 


Bou-Djerna  died  in  the  middle  of  the  night  with- 
out ha\'ing  regained  consciousness. 


CHAPTER  VII 


THE  COUNTRY  OF  FEAR 


"It  is  curious,"  said  Morhange,  "to  see  how  our 
expedition,  uneventful  since  we  left  Ouargla,  is  now 
becoming  exciting." 

He  said  this  after  kneeling  for  a  moment  in 
prayer  before  the  painfully  dug  grave  in  which  we 
had  lain  the  guide. 

I  do  not  believe  in  God.  But  if  anything  can  in- 
fluence whatever  powers  there  may  be,  whether  of 
good  or  of  evil,  of  light  or  of  darkness,  it  is  the 
prayer  of  such  a  man. 

For  two  days  we  picked  our  way  through  a  gi- 
gantic chaos  of  black  rock  in  what  might  have  been 
the  country  of  the  moon,  so  barren  was  it.  No 
sound  but  that  of  stones  rolling  under  the  feet  of 
the  camels  and  striking  like  gimshots  at  the  foot  of 
the  precipices. 

A  strange  march  indeed.  For  the  first  few  hours, 
I  tried  to  pick  out,  by  compass,  the  route  we  were 
following.  But  my  calculations  were  soon  upset; 
doubtless  a  mistake  due  to  the  swaying  motion  of 

y8 


T  H  K     C  (.)  U  N  T  K  V     O  I'     I"  J'  A  K       99 

the  camel.  I  put  the  compass  back  In  one  of  my 
saddle-bags,  Froiii  that  time  on,  I'.g-Anteouen  was 
our  master.     We  could  only  trust  ourselves  to  him. 

He  went  first;  Morhange  followed  him,  and  I 
brought  up  the  rear.  We  passed  at  every  step  most 
curious  specimens  of  volcanic  rock.  But  I  did  not 
examine  them.  I  was  no  longer  interested  in  such 
things.  Another  kind  of  curiosity  had  taken  pos- 
session of  me.  I  had  come  to  share  Morhange's 
madness.  If  my  companion  had  said  to  me:  "We 
are  doing  a  very  rash  thing.  Let  us  go  back  to  the 
known  trails,"  I  should  have  replied,  "You  are  free 
to  do  as  you  please.     But  I  am  going  on.'* 

Toward  evening  of  the  second  day,  we  found 
ourselves  at  the  foot  of  a  black  mountain  whose 
jagged  ramparts  towered  in  profile  seven  thousand 
feet  above  our  heads.  It  was  an  enormous  shadowy 
fortress,  like  the  outline  of  a  feudal  stronghold  sil- 
houetted with  incredible  sharpness  against  the 
orange  sky. 

There  was  a  well,  with  several  trees,  the  first 
we  had  seen  since  cutting  into  Ahaggar. 

A  group  of  men  were  standing  about  it.  Their 
camels,  tethered  close  by,  were  cropping  a  mouthful 
here  and  there. 

At  seeing  us,  the  men  drew  together,  alert,  on  the 
defensive. 

Eg-Anteouen  turned  to  us  and  said: 

"Eggali  Tuareg." 


loo  ATLANTIDA 

We  went  toward  them. 

They  were  handsome  men,  those  Eggali,  the  larg- 
est Tuareg  whom  I  ever  have  seen.  With  unex- 
pected swiftness  they  drew  aside  from  the  well,  leav- 
ing it  to  us.  Eg-Anteouen  spoke  a  few  words  to 
them.  They  looked  at  Morhange  and  me  with  a 
curiosity  bordering  on  fear,  but  at  any  rate,  with 
respect. 

I  drew  several  little  presents  from  my  saddlebags 
and  was  astonished  at  the  reserve  of  the  chief,  who 
refused  them.  He  seemed  afraid  even  of  my 
glance. 

When  they  had  gone,  I  expressed  my  astonish- 
ment at  this  shyness  for  which  my  previous  experi- 
ences with  the  tribes  of  the  Sahara  had  not  pre- 
pared me. 

"They  spoke  with  respect,  even  with  fear,'*  I  said 
to  Eg-Anteouen.  "And  yet  the  tribe  of  the  Eggali 
is  noble.  And  that  of  the  Kel-Tahats,  to  which  you 
tell  me  you  belong,  is  a  slave  tribe." 

A  smile  lighted  the  dark  eyes  of  Eg-Anteouen. 

"It  is  true,"  he  said. 

"Well  then?" 

"I  told  them  that  we  three,  the  Captain,  you 
and  I,  were  bound  for  the  Mountain  of  the  Evil 
Spirits." 

With  a  gesture,  he  indicated  the  black  mountain. 

"They  are  afraid.  All  the  Tuareg  of  Ahaggar 
are  afraid  of  the  Mountain  of  the  Evil  Spirits.    You 


THE     COUXIRY     OF     FEAR     loi 

saw  how  they  were  up  and  oft  at  the  very  mention 
of  its  name." 

"It  is  to  the  Mountain  of  the  Fvil  Spirits  that 
you  are  taking  us?"  queried  Morhangc. 

*'Yes,"  replied  the  Targa,  "that  is  where  the  in- 
scriptions are  that  I  told  you  about." 

"You  did  not  mention  that  detail  to  us." 

"Why  should  I?  The  Tuareg  are  afraid  of  the 
ilhinen,  spirits  with  horns  and  tails,  covered  with 
hair,  who  make  the  cattle  sicken  and  die  and  cast 
spells  over  men.  But  I  know  well  that  the  Chris- 
tians are  not  afraid  and  even  laugh  at  the  fears  of 
the  Tuareg." 

"And  you?"  I  asked.  "You  are  a  Targa  and  you 
are  not  afraid  of  the  ilhinen?" 

Eg-Anteouen  showed  a  little  red  leather  bag  hung 
about  his  neck  on  a  chain  of  white  seeds. 

"I  have  my  amulet,"  he  replied  gravely,  "blessed 
by  the  venerable  Sidi-Moussa  himself.  And  then  I 
am  with  you.  You  saved  my  life.  You  have  de- 
sired to  see  the  inscriptions.  The  will  of  Allah  be 
done!" 

As  he  finished  speaking,  he  squatted  on  his  heels, 
drew  out  his  long  reed  pipe  and  began  to  smoke 
gravely. 

"All  this  is  beginning  to  seem  very  strange,"  said 
Morhange,  coming  over  to  me. 

"You  can  say  that  without  exaggeration,"  I  re- 
plied.    "You  remember  as  well  as  I  the  passage  fn 


102  ATLANTIDA 

which  Barth  tells  of  his  expedition  to  the  Idinen, 
the  Mountain  of  the  Evil  Spirits  of  the  Azdjer 
Tuareg.  The  region  had  so  evil  a  reputation  that 
no  Targa  would  go  with  him.     But  he  got  back." 

"Yes,  he  got  back,"  replied  my  comrade,  "but 
only  after  he  had  been  lost.  Without  water  or  food, 
he  came  so  near  dying  of  hunger  and  thirst  that  he 
had  to  open  a  vein  and  drink  his  own  blood.  The 
prospect  is  not  particularly  attractive." 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders.  After  all,  it  v.-as  not  my 
fault  that  we  were  there. 

Morhange  understood  my  gesture  and  thought  it 
necessary  to  make  excuses. 

"I  should  be  curious,"  he  went  on  with  rather 
forced  gaiety,  *'to  meet  these  spirits  and  substantiate 
the  facts  of  Pomponius  Mela  who  knew  them  and 
locates  them,  in  fact,  in  the  mountain  of  the  Tuareg. 
He  calls  them  Egipans,  Blemycns,  Gamphasantes, 
Satyrs.  .  .  .  'The  Gamphasantes,'  he  says,  'are 
naked.  The  Blejnyens  have  no  head:  their  faces 
are  placed  on  their  chests;  the  Satyrs  have  nothing 
like  men  except  faces.  The  Egipans  are  made  as  is 
commonly  described.'  .  .  .  Satyrs,  Egipans  .  .  . 
isn't  it  very  strange  to  find  Greek  names  given  to 
the  barbarian  spirits  of  this  region?  Believe  me, 
we  are  on  a  curious  trail;  I  am  sure  that  Antinea 
will  be  our  key  to  remarkable  discoveries." 

"Listen,"  I  said,  laying  a  finger  on  my  lips. 

Strange  sounds  rose  from  about  us  as  the  evening 


THE     COUNTRY     OF     FKAR     103 

advanced  with  great  strides.  A  kind  of  crackling, 
followed  by  long  rending  shrieks,  echoed  and  re- 
echoed to  infinity  in  the  neighboring  ravines.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  the  whole  black  mountain  sud- 
denly had  begun  to  moan. 

We  looked  at  Eg-Anteouen.  He  was  smoking  on, 
without  twitching  a  muscle. 

"The  ilhincn  are  waking  up,"  he  said  sim- 
ply. 

Morhange  listened  v/ithout  saying  a  word. 
Doubtless  he  understood  as  I  did:  the  overheated 
rocks,  the  crackling  of  the  stone,  a  whole  series  of 
physical  phenomena,  the  example  of  the  singing  sta- 
tue of  Memnon.  .  .  .  But,  for  all  that,  this  unex- 
pected concert  reacted  no  less  painfully  on  our  over- 
strained nerves. 

The  last  words  of  poor  Bou-Djema  came  to  my 
mind. 

"The  country  of  fear,"  I  murmured  in  a  low 
voice. 

And  Morhange  repeated: 

"The  country  of  fear." 

The  strange  concert  ceased  as  the  first  stars  ap- 
peared in  the  sky.  With  deep  emotion  we  watched 
the  tiny  bluish  flames  appear,  one  after  another. 
At  that  portentous  moment  they  seemed  to  span  the 
distance  between  us,  isolated,  condemned,  lost,  and 
our  brothers  of  higher  latitudes,  who  at  that  hour 
were   rushing  about  their  poor  pleasures   with   de- 


104  ATLANTIDA 

lirious  frenzy  in  cities  where  the  whiteness  of  elec- 
tric lamps  came  on  in  a  burst, 

Chet-Ahadh  essa  hethenet 
Mdteredjre  d'Erredjaot, 
Mdtesekek  d-Essekdot, 
Mdtelahrlahr  d'Ellerhdot, 
Ettds  djenen,   bardd  tit-enn'it  ahdtet. 

Eg-Anteouen's  voice  raised«itself  in  slow  guttural 
tones.  It  resounded  with  sad,  grave  majesty  in  the 
silence  now  complete. 

I  touched  the  Targa's  arm.  With  a  movement 
of  his  head,  he  pointed  to  a  constellation  glittering 
in  the  firmament. 

"The  Pleiades,"  I  murmured  to  Morhange,  show- 
ing him  the  seven  pale  stars,  while  Eg-Anteouen 
took  up  his  mournful  song  in  the  same  monotone: 

"The  Daughters  of  the  Night  are  seven: 
Materedjre  and  Erredjeaot, 
Matesekek  and  Essekaot, 
Matelahrlahr  and  Ellerhaot, 

The  seventh  is  a  boy,  one  of  whose  eyes  has  flown 
away." 

A  sudden  sickness  came  over  me.  I  seized  the 
Targa's  arm  as  he  was  starting  to  intone  his  refrain 
for  the  third  time. 


THF.     COUNTRY     OF     FFAR      loq 

"When  will  wc  reach  this  ca\-e  with  the  inscrip- 
tions?" I  asked  hrusquely. 

He  looked  at  me  and  replied  with  his  usual  cahn  : 

"We  are  there." 

"We  are  there?  Then  why  don't  you  show  it  to 
us  r 

"You  did  not  ask  me,"  he  replied,  not  without  a 
touch  of  insolence. 

Morhange  had  jumped  to  his  feet. 

*'The  cave  is  here?" 

"It  is  here,"  Fg-Anteouen  replied  slowly,  rising 
to  his  feet. 

"Take  us  to  it." 

"Morhange,"  I  said,  suddenly  anxious,  "night  is 
falling.  We  will  see  nothing.  And  perha]:)s  it  is 
still  some  way  off." 

"It  is  hardly  fiv^e  hundred  paces,"  Fg-Anteouen  re- 
plied. "The  cave  is  full  of  dead  underbrush.  We 
will  set  it  on  fire  and  the  Captain  will  see  as  in  full 
daylight." 

"Come,"  my  comrade  repeated. 

"And  the  camels?"  I  hazarded. 

"They  are  tethered,"  said  Eg-Anteouen,  "and  wc 
shall  not  be  gone  long." 

He  had  started  toward  the  black  mountain.  Mor- 
hange, trembling  with  excitement,  followed.  I  fol- 
lowed, too,  the  victim  of  profound  uneasiness.  My 
pulses  throbbed.  "I  am  not  afraid,"  I  kept  re- 
peating to  myself.     "I  swear  that  this  is  not  fear." 


io6  ATLANTIDA 

And  really  it  was  not  fear.  Yet,  what  a  strange 
dizziness!  There  was  a  mist  over  my  eyes.  My 
ears  buzzed.  Again  I  heard  Eg-Anteouen's  voice, 
but  multiplied,  immense,  and  at  the  same  time,  very 
low. 

"The  Daughters  of  the  Night  are  seven   .   .   ." 

It  seemed  to  me  that  the  voice  of  the  mountain, 
re-echoing,  repeated  that  sinister  last  line  to  infinit}': 

"And  the  seventh  is  a  boy,  one  of  whose  eyes  has 
fiown  away." 

"Here  it  is,"  said  the  Targa. 

A  black  hole  in  the  wall  opened  up.  Bending 
over,  Eg-Anteouen  entered.  We  followed  him. 
The  darkness  closed  around  us, 

A  yellow  flame.  Eg-Anteouen  had  struck  his  flint. 
He  set  fire  to  a  pile  of  brush  near  the  surface.  At 
first  Vv^e  could  see  nothing.     The  smoke  blinded  us. 

Eg-Anteouen  stayed  at  one  side  of  the  opening 
of  the  cave.  He  was  seated  and,  more  inscrutible 
than  ever,  had  begun  again  to  blow  great  puffs  of 
gray  smoke  from  his  pipe. 

The  burning  brush  cast  a  flickering  light.  I  caught 
a  glim.pse  of  Morhange.  He  seemed  very  pale. 
With  both  hands  braced  against  the  wall,  he  was 
working  to  decipher  a  mass  of  signs  which  I  could 
scarcely  distinguish. 


THE     COUXTRY     OF     FEAR     107 

Nevertheless,  I  thought  I  could  see  his  hands 
trembling. 

"  The  devil,"  I  thout^ht,  finding  it  more  and  more 
difficult  to  co-ordinate  my  thoughts,  "he  seems  to 
he  as  unstrung  as  T." 

I  heard  him  call  out  to  Eg-Anteouen  in  what 
seemed  to  me  a  loud  voice : 

"Stand  to  one  side.  Let  the  air  in.  What  a 
smoke !" 

He  kept  on  working  at  the  signs. 

Suddenly  I  heard  him  again,  but  with  difficulty. 
It  seemed  as  if  even  sounds  were  confused  in  the 
smoke. 

"Antinea.   ...   At  last \ntinea.      But  not 

cut  in  the  rock  .  .  .  the  marks  traced  in  ochre  .  .  . 
not  ten  years  old,  perhaps  not  five.   .    .   .   Oh!   .   .   ." 

He  pressed  his  hands  to  his  head.  Again  he  cried 
out: 

"It  is  a  mystery.     A  tragic  mystery." 

I  laughed  teasingly. 

"Come  on,  come  on.     Don't  get  excited  over  it." 

He  took  me  by  the  arm  and  shook  me.  I  saw  his 
eyes  big  with  terror  and  astonishment. 

"Are  you  mad?"  he  yelled  in  my  face. 

"Not  so  loud,"  I  replied  with  the  same  little 
Inugh. 

He  looked  at  me  again,  and  sank  down,  over- 
come, on  a  rock  opposite  me.  Eg-Anteouen  was  still 
smoking  placidly  at  the  mouth  of  the   cave.      We 


io8  ATLANTIDA 

could  see  the  red  circle  of  his  pipe  glowing  in  the 
darkness. 

"Madman!  Madman!"  repeated  Morhange. 
His  voice  seemed  to  stick  in  his  throat. 

Suddenly  he  bent  over  the  brush  which  was  giving 
its  last  darts  of  flame,  high  and  clear.  He  picked 
out  a  branch  which  had  not  yet  caught.  I  saw  him 
examine  it  carefully,  then  throw  it  back  in  the  fire 
with  a  loud  laugh. 

"Ha!    Ha!    That's  good,  all  right!" 

He  staggered  toward  Eg-Anteouen,  pointing  to 
the  fire. 

"It's  hemp.  Hasheesh,  hasheesh.  Oh,  that's  a 
good  one,  all  right." 

"Yes,  it's  a  good  one,"  I  repeated,  bursting  into 
laughter. 

Eg-Anteouen  quietly  smiled  approval.  The  dying 
fire  lit  his  inscrutable  face  and  flickered  in  his  ter- 
rible dark  eyes. 

A  moment  passed.  Suddenly  Morhange  seized 
the  Targa's  arm. 

"I  want  to  smoke,  too,"  he  said.  "Give  me  a 
pipe."     The  specter  gave  him  one. 

"What!     A  European  pipe?" 

"A  European  pipe,"  I  repeated,  feeling  gayer  and 
gayer. 

"With  an  initial,  *M.*  As  if  made  on  purpose. 
M.   .  .  .  Captain  Morhange." 

"Masson,"  corrected  Eg-Anteouen  quietly. 


THE     COUxNTRY     OF     FEAR     109 

"Captain  Masson,"  I  repeated  in  concert  with 
Morhange. 

We  laughed  again. 

"Hal  Ha!  Ha!  Captain  Masson.  .  .  .  Colo- 
nel Flatters.  .  .  .  The  well  of  Garama.  They 
killed  him  to  take  his  pipe  .  .  .  that  pipe.  It  was 
Cegheir-ben-Cheikh  who  killed  Captain  Masson." 

"It  was  Cegheir-ben-Cheikh,"  repeated  the  Targa 
with  imperturbable  calm. 

"Captain  Masson  and  Colonel  Flatters  had  left 
the  convoy  to  look  for  the  well,"  said  Morhange, 
laughing. 

"It  was  then  that  the  Tuareg  attacked  them,"  I 
finished,  laughing  as  hard  as  I  could. 

"A  Targa  of  Ahaggar  seized  the  bridle  of  Cap- 
tain Masson's  horse,"  said  Morhange. 

"Cegheir-ben-Cheikh  had  hold  of  Colonel  Flat- 
ters' bridle,"  put  in  Eg-Anteouen. 

"The  Colonel  puts  his  foot  in  the  stirrup  and  re- 
ceives a  cut  from  Ccgheir-ben-Cheikh's  saber,"  I 
said. 

"Captain  Masson  draws  his  revolver  and  hres  on 
Cegheir-ben-Cheikh,  shooting  off  three  fingers  of  his 
left  hand,"  said  Morhange. 

"But,"  finished  Eg-Anteouen  imperturbably,  "but 
Cegheir-ben-Cheikh,  with  one  blow  of  his  saber, 
splits  Captain  Masson's  skull." 

He  gave  a  silent,  satisfied  laugh  as  he  spoke.  The 
dying  flame  lit  up  his  face.     We  saw  the  gleaming 


no  ATLANTIDA 

black  stem  of  his  pipe.  He  held  it  in  his  left  hand. 
One  finger,  no,  two  fingers  only  on  that  hand. 
Hello  I     I  had  not  noticed  that  before, 

Morhange  also  noticed  it,  for  he  finished  with  a 
loud  laugh. 

"Then,  after  splitting  his  skull,  you  robbed  him. 
You  took  his  pipe  from  him.  Bravo,  Cegheir-ben- 
Cheikh!'' 

Cegheir-ben-Cheikh  does  not  reply,  but  I  can  see 
how  satisfied  with  himself  he  is.  He  keeps  on  smok- 
ing. I  can  hardly  see  his  features  now.  The  fire- 
light pales,  dies.  I  have  never  laughed  so  much  as 
this  evening.  I  am  sure  Morhange  never  has,  either. 
Perhaps  he  will  forget  the  cloister.  And  all  because 
Cegheir-ben-Cheikh  stole  Captain  Masson's  pipe. .  .  . 

Again  that  accursed  song.  "The  seventh  is  a  boy, 
one  of  whose  eyes  has  flown  away."  One  cannot 
imagine  more  senseless  words.  It  is  very  strange, 
really:  there  seem  to  be  four  of  us  in  this  cave  now. 
Four,  I  say,  five,  six,  seven,  eight.  .  .  .  Make  your- 
selves at  home,  my  friends.  What!  there  are  no 
more  of  you?  ...  I  am  going  to  find  out  at  last 
how  the  spirits  of  this  region  are  made,  the  Gam- 
phasantes,  the  Blemyens.  .  .  .  Morhange  says  that 
the  Blemye?ts  have  their  faces  on  the  middle  of  their 
chests.  Surely  this  one  who  is  seizing  me  in  his  arms 
is  not  a  Blemyen!  Now  he  is  carrying  me  outside. 
And  Morhange  ...  I  do  not  want  them  to  forget 
Morhange.  .  .  . 


THE     COUNTRY'     OF     FEAR     1 1 1 

They  did  not  forget  him ;  I  see  him  perched  on  a 
camel  in  front  of  that  one  to  which  I  am  fastened. 
They  did  well  to  fasten  me,  for  otherwise  I  surely 
would  tumble  off.  These  spirits  certainly  are  not 
bad  fellows.  But  what  a  long  way  it  is !  I  want  to 
stretch  out.  To  sleep.  A  while  ago  we  surely  were 
following  a  long  passage,  then  we  were  in  the  open 
air.  Now  we  are  again  in  an  endless  stifling  corri- 
dor. Flere  are  the  stars  again.  ...  Is  this  ridicu- 
lous course  going  to  keep  on?  .   .  . 

Hello,  lights!  Stars,  perhaps.  No,  lights,  I  say. 
A  stairway,  on  my  word;  of  rocks,  to  be  sure,  but 
still,  a  stairway.  How  can  the  camels  .  .  .  ?  But 
it  is  no  longer  a  camel;  this  is  a  man  carrying  me. 
A  man  dressed  in  white,  not  a  Gamphasante  nor  a 
Blemyen.  Morhange  must  be  giving  himself  airs 
with  his  historical  reasoning,  all  false,  I  repeat,  all 
false.  Good  Morhange.  Provided  that  his  Gam- 
phasante  does  not  let  him  fall  on  this  unending  stair- 
way. Something  glitters  on  the  ceiling.  Yes,  it  is  a 
lamp,  a  copper  lamp,  as  at  Tunis,  at  Barbouchy's. 
Good,  here  again  you  cannot  see  anything.  But  I 
am  making  a  fool  of  myself;  I  am  lying  down;  now 
I  can  go  to  sleep.  What  a  silly  day  I  .  .  .  Gentle- 
men, I  assure  you  that  it  is  unnecessary  to  bind  me: 
I  do  not  want  to  go  down  on  the  boulevards. 

Darkness  again.  Steps  of  someone  going  away. 
Silence. 

But  only  for  a  moment.    Someone  is  talking  beside 


112  ATLANTIDA 

me.  What  are  they  saying?  .  .  .  No,  it  is  impos- 
sible. That  metallic  ring,  that  voice.  Do  you  know 
what  it  is  calling,  that  voice,  do  you  know  what  it  is 
calling  in  the  tones  of  someone  used  to  the  phrase? 
Well,  it  is  calling: 

"Play  your  cards,  gentlemen,  play  your  cards. 
There  are  ten  thousand  lonis  in  the  bank.  Play  your 
cards,  gentlemen." 

In  the  name  of  God,  am  I  or  am  I  not  at  Ahaggar? 


CHAPTER  VTII 

AWAKENING    AT    AIIAGCJAR 

It  was  broad  daylight  when  I  opened  my  eyes.  I 
thought  at  once  of  Morhange.  I  could  not  see  him, 
but  I  heard  him,  close  by,  giving  little  grunts  of  sur- 
prise. 

I  called  to  him.     He  ran  to  me. 

"Then  they  didn't  tie  you  up?"  I  asked. 

"I  beg  your  pardon.  They  did.  But  they  did  it 
badly;  I  managed  to  get  free." 

"You  might  have  untied  me,  too,"  I  remarked 
crossly. 

"What  good  would  it  have  done?  I  should  only 
have  waked  you  up.  And  I  thought  that  your  first 
word  would  be  to  call  me.     There,  that's  done." 

I  reeled  as  I  tried  to  stand  on  my  feet. 

Morhange  smiled. 

"We  might  have  spent  the  whole  night  smoking 
and  drinking  and  not  been  in  a  worse  state,"  he  said. 
"Anyhow,  that  Eg-Anteouen  with  his  hasheesh  is  a 
fine  rascal." 

"Cegheir-ben-Cheikh,"  I  corrected. 

113 


114  ATLANTIDA 

I  rubbed  my  hand  over  my  forehead. 

"Where  are  we?" 

"My  dear  boy,"  Morhange  replied,  "since  I  awak- 
ened from  the  extraordinary  nightmare  which  is 
mixed  up  with  the  smoky  cave  and  the  lamp-lit  stair- 
way of  the  Arabian  Nights,  I  have  been  going  from 
surprise  to  surprise,  from  confusion  to  confusion. 
Just  look  around  you." 

I  rubbed  my  eyes  and  stared.  Then  I  seized  my 
friend's  hand. 

"Morhange,"  I  begged,  "tell  me  if  we  are  still 
dreaming." 

We  were  In  a  round  room,  perhaps  fifty  feet  In 
diameter,  and  of  about  the  same  height,  lighted 
by  a  great  window  opening  on  a  sky  of  intense 
blue. 

Swallows  flew  back  and  forth,  outside,  giving 
quick,  joyous  cries. 

The  floor,  the  incurving  walls  and  the  ceiling  were 
of  a  kind  of  veined  marble  like  porphyry,  panelled 
with  a  strange  metal,  paler  than  gold,  darker  than 
silver,  clouded  just  then  by  the  early  morning  mist 
that  came  in  through  the  window  in  great  puffs. 

I  staggered  toward  this  window,  drawn  J3y  the 
freshness  of  the  breeze  and  the  sunlight  which  was 
chasing  away  my  dreams,  and  I  leaned  my  elbows 
on  the  balustrade. 

I  could  not  restrain  a  cry  of  delight. 

I  was  standing  on  a  kind  of  balcony,  cut  into  the 


AWAKENING    AT    AHAGGAR        115 

flank  of  a  mountain,  overhanging  an  abyss.  Above 
me,  blue  sky;  below  appeared  a  veritable  earthly 
paradise  hemmed  In  on  all  sides  by  mountains  that 
formed  a  continuous  and  Impassable  wall  about  It. 
A  garden  lay  spread  out  down  there.  The  palm 
trees  gently  swayed  their  great  fronds.  At  their  feet 
was  a  tangle  of  the  smaller  trees  which  grow  in  an 
oasis  under  their  protection:  almonds,  lemons, 
oranges,  and  many  others  which  I  could  not  dis- 
tinguish from  that  height.  A  broad  blue  stream,  fed 
by  a  waterfall,  emptied  into  a  charming  lake,  the 
waters  of  which  had  the  marvellous  transparency 
which  comes  In  high  altitudes.  Great  birds  flew  in 
circles  over  this  green  hollow;  I  could  see  in  the 
lake  the  red  flash  of  a  flamingo. 

The  peaks  of  the  mountains  which  towered  on  all 
sides  were  completely  covered  with  snow. 

The  blue  stream,  the  green  palms,  the  golden 
fruit,  and  above  It  all,  the  miraculous  snow,  all  this 
bathed  in  that  limpid  air,  gave  such  an  impression 
of  beauty,  of  purity,  that  my  poor  human  strength 
could  no  longer  stand  the  sight  of  It.  I  laid  my  fore- 
head on  the  balustrade,  which,  too,  was  covered 
with  that  heavenly  snow,  and  began  to  cry  like  a 
baby. 

Morhange  was  behaving  like  another  child.  But 
he  had  awakened  before  I  had,  and  doubtless  had 
had  time  to  grasp,  one  by  one.  al!  these  details  whose 
fantastic  ensemble  staggered  me. 


ii6  ATLANTIDA 

He  laid  his  hand  on  my  shoulder  and  gently  pulled 
me  back  into  the  room. 

"You  haven't  seen  anything  yet,"  he  said.  "Look ! 
Look!" 

"Morhange!" 

"Well,  old  man,  what  do  you  want  me  to  do  about 
it?    Look!" 

I  had  just  realized  that  the  strange  room  was  fur- 
nished— God  forgive  me — in  the  European  fashion. 
There  were  indeed,  here  and  there,  round  leather 
Tuareg  cushions,  brightly  colored  blankets  from 
Gafsa,  rugs  from  Kairouan,  and  Caramani  hangings 
which,  at  that  moment,  I  should  have  dreaded  to 
draw  aside.  But  a  \half-open  panel  in  thd  "wall 
showed  a  bookcase  crowded  with  books.  A  whole 
row  of  photographs  of  masterpieces  of  ancient  art 
were  hung  on  the  walls.  Finally  there  was  a  table 
almost  hidden  under  its  heap  of  papers,  pamphlets, 
books.  I  thought  I  should  collapse  at  seeing  a  recent 
number  of  the  Archaeological  Review. 

I  looked  at  Morhange.  He  was  looking  at  me, 
and  suddenly  a  mad  laugh  seized  us  and  doubled  us 
up  for  a  good  minute. 

"I  do  not  know,"  Morhange  finally  managed  to 
say,  "whether  or  not  we  shall  regret  some  day  our 
little  excursion  into  Ahaggar.  But  admit,  in  the 
meantime,  that  it  promises  to  be  rich  in  unexpected 
adventures.  That  unforgettable  guide  who  puts  us 
to  sleep  just  to  distract  us  from  the  unpleasantness  of 


AWAKENING    AT    AHAGGAR        117 

caravan  life  and  who  lets  mc  experience,  in  the  best 
of  good  faith,  the  far-famed  delights  of  hasheesh : 
that  fantastic  night  ride,  and,  to  cap  the  climax,  this 
cave  of  a  Nureddin  who  must  have  received  the  edu- 
cation of  the  Athenian  Bersot  at  the  French  Ecole 
Normale — all  this  is  enough,  on  my  word,  to  upset 
the  wits  of  the  best  balanced." 

"What  do  I  think,  my  poor  friend?  Why,  just 
what  you  yourself  think.  I  don't  understand  it  at 
all,  not  at  all.  What  you  politely  call  my  learning 
is  not  worth  a  cent.  And  why  shouldn't  I  be  all 
mixed  up?  This  living  in  ca\es  amazes  me.  Pliny 
speaks  of  the  natives  living  in  caves,  seven  days' 
march  southwest  of  the  country  of  the  Amantes,  and 
twelve  days  to  the  westward  of  the  great  Syrte. 
Herodotus  says  also  that  the  Garamentes  used  to 
go  out  in  their  chariots  to  hunt  the  cave-dwelling 
Ethiopians.  But  here  we  are  in  Ahaggar,  in  the 
midst  of  the  Targa  country,  and  the  best  authorities 
tell  us  that  the  Tuareg  never  have  been  willing  to 
live  in  caves.  Duveyrier  is  precise  on  that  point. 
And  what  is  this,  I  ask  you,  but  a  cave  turned  into  a 
workroom,  with  pictures  of  the  Venus  de  Medici  and 
the  Apollo  Sauroctone  on  the  walls?  I  tell  you  that 
it  is  enough  to  drive  you  mad." 

And  Morhange  threw  himself  on  a  couch  and 
began  to  roar  with  laughter  again. 

"See,"  I  said,  "this  is  Latin." 

I  had  picked  up  several  scattered  papers  from  the 


ii8  ATLANTIDA 

work-table  in  the  middle  of  the  room.  Morhangc 
took  them  from  my  hands  and  devoured  them  greed- 
ily.   His  face  expressed  unbounded  stupefaction. 

"Stranger  and  stranger,  my  boy.  Someone  here 
is  composing,  with  much  citation  of  texts,  a  disser- 
tation on  the  Gorgon  Islands:  de  Gorgoniim  insidis. 
Medusa,  according  to  him,  was  a  Libyan  savage  who 
lived  near  Lake  Triton,  our  present  Chott  Melhrir, 
and  it  is  there  that  Perseus  ...  Ah !" 

Morhange's  words  choked  in  his  throat.  A  sharp, 
shrill  voice  pierced  the  immense  room. 

"Gentlemen,  I  beg  you,  let  my  papers  alone." 

I  turned  toward  the  newcomer. 

One  of  the  Caramani  curtains  was  drawn  aside, 
and  the  most  unexpected  of  persons  came  in.  Re- 
signed as  we  were  to  unexpected  events,  the  improb- 
ability of  this  sight  exceeded  anything  our  imagina- 
tions could  have  devised. 

On  the  threshold  stood  a  little  bald-headed  man 
with  a  pointed  sallow  face  half  hidden  by  an  enor- 
mous pair  of  green  spectacles  and  a  pepper  and  salt 
beard.  No  shirt  was  visible,  but  an  impressive  broad 
red  cravat.  He  wore  white  trousers.  Red  leather 
slippers  furnished  the  only  Oriental  suggestion  of 
his  costume. 

He  wore,  not  without  pride,  the  rosette  of  an 
officer  of  the  Department  of  Education. 

He  collected  the  papers  which  Morhangc  had 
dropped  in  his  amazement,  counted  them,  arranged 


AWAKENING    AT    AHAGGAR        no 

them;  then,  casting  a  peevish  glance  at  us,  he  struck 
a  copper  gong. 

The  portiere  was  raised  again.  A  huge  white 
Targa  entered.  I  seemed  to  recognize  him  as  one 
of  the  genii  of  the  cave,* 

"Ferradji,"  angrily  demanded  the  little  officer  of 
the  Department  of  Education,  "why  were  these  gen- 
tlemen brought  into  the  library?" 

The  Targa  bowed  respectfully. 

"Cegheir-bcn-Cheikh  came  back  sooner  than  we 
expected,"  he  replied,  "and  last  night  the  embalmers 
had  not  yet  finished.  They  brought  them  here  in  the 
meantime,"  and  he  pointed  to  us. 

"Very  well,  you  may  go,"  snapped  the  little  man. 

Ferradji  backed  toward  the  door.  On  the 
threshold,  he  stopped  and  spoke  again: 

"I  was  to  remind  you,  sir,  that  dinner  is  served." 

"All  right.     Go  along." 

And  the  little  man  seated  himself  at  the  desk  and 
began  to  finger  the  papers  feverishly. 

I  do  not  know  why,  but  a  mad  feeling  of  exasper- 
ation seized  me.     I  walked  toward  him. 

"Sir,"  I  said,  "my  friend  and  I  do  not  know  where 
we  are  nor  who  you  are.     We  can  see  only  that  you 


1  The  negro  serfs  among-  the  Tuareg  are  generally  called 
"white  Tuareg."  While  the  nobles  are  clad  in  blue  cotton  robes, 
the  serfs  wear  white  robe?,  hence  their  name  of  "white  Tuareg." 
See,  in  this  connection,  Duveyrier :  les  Tuareg  du  Nord,  page 
292.     (Note  by  M.  Leroux.) 


I20  ATLANTIDA 

are  French,  since  you  are  wearing  one  of  the  highest 
honorary  decorations  of  our  country.  You  may  have 
made  the  same  observation  on  your  part,"  I  added, 
indicating  the  slender  red  ribbon  which  I  wore  on 
my  vest. 

He  looked  at  me  in  contemptuous  surprise. 
"Well,  sir?" 

"Well,  sir,  the  negro  who  just  went  out  pronounced 
the  name  of  Cegheir-ben-Cheikh,  the  name  of  a  bri- 
gand, a  bandit,  one  of  the  assassins  of  Colonel  Flat- 
ters.   Are  you  acquainted  with  that  detail,  sir?" 

The  little  man  surveyed  me  coldly  and  shrugged 
his  shoulders. 

"Certainly.  But  what  difference  do  you  suppose 
that  makes  to  me?" 

"What !"  I  cried,  beside  myself  with  rage.  "Who 
are  you.  anyway?" 

"Sir,"  said  the  little  old  man  with  comical  dignity, 
turning  to  Morhange,  "I  call  you  to  witness  the 
strange  manners  of  your  companion.  I  am  here  in 
my  own  house  and  I  do  not  allow  .  .  ." 

"You  must  excuse  my  comrade,  sir,"  said  Mor- 
hange, stepping  forward.  "He  is  not  a  man  of 
letters,  as  you  are.  These  young  lieutenants  are 
hot-headed,  you  know.  And  besides,  you  can  under- 
stand why  both  of  us  are  not  as  calm  as  might  be 
desired." 

I  was  furious  and  on  the  point  of  disavowing  these 
strangely  humble  words  of  Morhange.    But  a  glance 


AWAKENING    AT    AIIAGGAR         121 

showed  me  that  there  was  as  mucli  irony  as  surprise 
in  his  expression. 

"I  know  indeed  that  most  officers  arc  brutes," 
grumbled  die  little  old  man.  "But  that  is  no  rea- 
son  .   .   . 

**I  am  only  an  officer  myself,"  Morhange  went  on, 
in  an  even  humbler  tone,  "and  if  ever  I  have  been 
sensible  to  the  intellectual  inferiority  of  that  class,  I 
assure  you  that  it  was  just  now  in  glancing — I  beg 
your  pardon  for  having  taken  the  liberty  to  do  so — 
in  glancing  over  the  learned  pages  which  yo'i  devote 
to  the  passionate  story  of  Medusa,  according  to 
Procles  of  Carthage,  cited  by  Pausanias." 

A  laughable  surprise  spread  over  the  features  of 
the  little  old  man.     He  hastily  wiped  his  spectacles. 

"What!"  he  finally  cried. 

"It  is  indeed  unfortunate,  in  this  matter,"  Mor- 
hange continued  imperturbably,  "that  we  are  not  in 
possession  of  the  curious  dissertation  devoted  to  this 
burning  question  by  Statius  Sebosus,  a  work  which 
we  know  only  through  Pliny  and  which  .  .   ." 

"You  know  Statius  Sebosus?" 

"And  which  my  master,  the  geographer  Ber- 
lioux  .   .  ." 

"You  knew  Berlioux — you  were  his  pupil?"  stam- 
mered the  little  man  with  the  decoration. 

"I  have  had  that  honor,"  replied  Morhange,  very 
coldly. 

"But,  but,  sir,  then  you  have  heard  mentioned,  you 


122  ATLANTIDA 

are  familiar  with  the  question,  the  problem  of  At- 
lantis?" 

"Indeed  I  am  not  unacquainted  with  the  works  of 
Lagneau,  Ploix,  Arbois  de  Jubainville,"  said  Mor- 
hange  frigidly. 

"My  God!"  The  little  man  was  going  through 
extraordinary  contortions.  "Sir — Captain,  how 
happy  I  am,  how  many  excuses.  .  .   ." 

Just  then,  the  portiere  was  raised.  Ferradji  ap- 
peared again. 

"Sir,  they  want  me  to  tell  you  that  unless  you 
come,  they  will  begin  without  you." 

"I  am  coming,  I  am  coming.  Say,  Ferradji,  that 
we  will  be  there  in  a  moment.  Why,  sir,  if  I  had 
foreseen  ...  It  is  extraordinary  ...  to  find  an 
officer  who  knows  Procles  of  Carthage  and  Arbois 
de  Jubainville.  Again  .  .  .  But  I  must  introduce 
myself.  I  am  Etienne  Le  Mesge,  Fellow  of  the  Uni- 
v^ersity." 

"Captain  Morhange,"  said  my  companion. 
I  stepped  forward  in  my  turn. 
"Lieutenant  de  Saint-Avit.  It  is  a  fact,  sir,  that  I 
am  very  likely  to  confuse  Arbois  of  Carthage  with 
Procles  de  Jubainville.  Later,  I  shall  have  to  see 
about  filling  up  those  gaps.  But  just  now,  I  should 
like  to  know  where  we  are,  if  we  are  free,  and  if 
not,  what  occult  power  holds  us.  You  have  the  ap- 
pearance, sir,  of  being  sufficiently  at  home  in  this 
house  to  be  able  to  enlighten  us  upon  this  point, 


AWAKENING    AT    AHAGGAK        123 

which  I  must  confess,  I  weakly  consider  of  the  first 
importance." 

iVl.  Le  Mesge  looked  at  me.  A  rather  malevolent 
smile  twitched  the  corners  of  his  mouth.  He  opened 
his  lips.   .   .   . 

A  gong  sounded  impatiently. 

"In  good  time,  gentlemen,  I  will  tell  you.  I  will 
explain  everything.  .  .  .  But  now  you  see  that  we 
must  hurry.  It  is  time  for  lunch  and  our  fellow  din- 
ers will  get  tired  of  waiting." 

"Our  fellow  diners?" 

"There  are  two  of  them,"  M.  Le  Mesge  ex- 
plained. "We  three  constitute  the  European  per- 
sonnel of  the  house,  that  Is,  the  fixed  personnel,"  he 
seemed  to  feel  obliged  to  add,  with  his  disquieting 
smile.  "Two  strange  fellows,  gentlemen,  with 
whom,  doubtless,  you  will  care  to  have  as  little  to  do 
as  possible.  One  is  a  churchman,  narrow-minded, 
though  a  Protestant.  The  other  Is  a  man  of  the 
world  gone  astray,  an  old  fool." 

"Pardon,"  I  said,  "but  It  must  have  been  he  whom 
I  heard  last  night.  He  was  gambling:  with  you  and 
the  minister,  doubtless?" 

M.  Le  Mesge  made  a  gesture  of  offended  dignity. 

"The  idea  !  With  me,  sir?  It  is  with  the  Tuareg 
that  he  plays.  He  teaches  them  every  game  imag- 
inable. There,  that  is  he  who  Is  striking  the  gong 
to  hurry  us  up.  It  Is  half  past  nine,  and  the  Salle 
de  Trente  et  Qiiarante  opens  at  ttn  o'clock.     Let  us 


124  ATLANTIDA 

hurry.  I  suppose  that  anyway  you  will  not  be  averse 
to  a  little  refreshment." 

"Indeed  we  shall  not  refuse,"  Morhange  replied. 

We  followed  M.  Le  Mesge  along  a  long  winding 
corridor  with  frequent  steps.  The  passage  was 
dark.  But  at  intervals  rose-colored  night  lights  and 
incense  burners  were  placed  in  niches  cut  into  the 
solid  rock.  The  passionate  Oriental  scents  perfumed 
the  darkness  and  contrasted  strangely  with  the  cold 
air  of  the  snowy  peaks. 

From  time  to  time,  a  white  Targa,  mute  and  ex- 
pressionless as  a  phantom,  would  pass  us  and  we 
would  hear  the  clatter  of  his  slippers  die  away  be- 
hind us. 

M.  Le  Mesge  stopped  before  a  heavy  door  cov- 
ered with  the  same  pale  metal  which  I  had  noticed 
on  the  walls  of  the  library.  He  opened  It  and  stood 
aside  to  let  us  pass. 

Although  the  dining  room  which  we  entered  had 
little  in  common  with  European  dining  rooms,  I  have 
known  many  which  might  have  envied  Its  comfort. 
Like  the  library.  It  was  lighted  by  a  great  window. 
But  I  noticed  that  It  had  an  outside  exposure,  while 
that  of  the  library  overlooked  the  garden  in  the 
center  of  the  crown  of  mountains. 

No  center  table  and  none  of  those  barbaric  pieces 
of  furniture  that  we  call  chairs.  But  a  great  number 
of  buffet  tables  of  gilded  wood,  like  those  of  Venice, 
heavy  hangings  of  dull  and  subdued  colors,  and  cush- 


AWAKENING    AT    AHAGGAR        125 

ions,  Tuareg  or  Tunisian.  In  the  center  was  a  huge 
mat  on  which  a  feast  was  placed  in  finely  woven 
baskets  among  silver  pitchers  and  copper  basins  filled 
with  perfumed  water.  The  fight  of  it  filled  me  with 
childish  satisfaction. 

M.  Le  Mesge  stepped  forward  and  introduced 
us  to  the  two  persons  who  already  had  taken  thetr 
places  on  the  mat. 

"Mr.  Spardek,"  he  said;  andby  that  simple  phrase 
I  understood  how  far  our  host  placed  himself  above 
vain  human  titles. 

The  Reverend  Mr.  Spardek,  of  Manchester, 
bowed  reservedl/  and  asked  our  permission  to  keep 
on  his  tall,  widebrimmed  hat.  He  was  a  dry,  cold 
man,  tall  and  tiin.  He  ate  in  pious  sadness,  enor- 
mously. 

"Monsieur  Bielowsky,"  said  M.  Le  Mesge,  intro- 
ducing us  CO  the  second  guest. 

"Coun;  Casimir  Bielowsky,  Hetman  of  Jitomir," 
the  latter  corrected  with  perfect  good  humor  as  he 
stood  ip  to  shake  hands. 

I  fet  at  once  a  certain  liking  for  the  Hetman  of 
Jitomi*  who  was  a  perfect  example  of  an  old  beau. 
His  ciocolate-coloured  hair  was  parted  in  the  center 
(lat-ir  I  found  out  that  the  Hetman  dyed  it  with  a 
corcoction  of  khol).  He  had  magnificent  whiskers, 
a^o  chocolate-coloured,  in  the  style  of  the  Em- 
leror  Francis  Joseph.  His  nose  was  undeniably  a 
little  red,  but  so  fine,  so  aristocratic.    His  hands  were 


126  ATLANTIDA 

marvelous.  It  took  some  thought  to  place  the  date 
of  the  style  of  the  count's  costume,  bottle  green  with 
yellow  facings,  ornamented  with  a  huge  seal  of  sil- 
ver and  enamel.  The  recollection  of  a  portrait  of 
the  Duke  de  Morny  made  me  decide  on  i860  or 
1862;  and  the  further  chapters  of  this  story  will 
show  that  I  was  not  far  wrong. 

The  count  made  me  sit  down  beside  him.    One  of 
his  first  questions  was  to  demand  if  I  ever  cut  fives.^ 
"That  depends  on  how  I  feel,"  1  replied. 
"Well  said.     I  have  not  done  so  since  1866.     I 
swore  off.    A  row.    The  devil  of  a  party.    One  day 
at  Walewski's.      I   cut  fives.      Naturally   I   wasn't 
worrying  any.    The  other  had  a  fou'*.      'Idiot !'  cried 
the  little  Baron  de  Chaux  Gisseux  who  was  laying 
staggering  sums  on  my  table.     I  huiled  a  bottle  of 
champagne  at  his  head.     He  ducked.    It  was  Mar- 
shal Baillant  who  got  the  bottle.     A  scene!     Tlie 
matter  was   fixed  up  because  we  were   ooth   Free 
Masons.    The  Emperor  made  me  promise  not  to  cut 
fives  again.     I  have  kept  my  promise.     Bit  there 
are  moments  when  it  is  hard.   .  .   ." 

He  added  in  a  voice  steeped  in  melancholy 
"Try  a  little  of  this  Ahaggar,  1880.  Excellent 
vintage.  It  is  I,  Lieutenant,  who  instructed  '■hese 
people  in  the  uses  of  the  juice  of  the  vine.  The 
vine  of  the  palm  trees  is  very  good  when  it  is  prop- 
erly fermented,  but  it  gets  insipid  in  the  long  run!* 

1  Tirer  a  cinq,  a  card  game  played  only  for  very  high  stakes. 


AWAKENING    AT    AHAGGAR        127 

It  was  powerful,  that  Ahaggar  1880.  We  sipped 
it  from  large  silver  goblets.  It  was  fresh  as  Rhine 
wine,  dry  as  the  wine  of  the  Hermitage.  And  then, 
suddenly,  it  brought  back  recollections  of  the  burn- 
ing wines  of  Portugal;  it  seemed  sweet,  fruity,  an 
admirable  wine,  I  tell  you. 

That  wine  crowned  the  most  perfect  of  luncheons. 
There  were  few  meats,  to  be  sure;  but  those  few  were 
remarkably  seasoned.  Profusion  of  cakes,  pancakes 
served  with  honey,  fragrant  fritters,  cheese-cakes  of 
sour  milk  and  dates.  And  everywhere,  in  great 
enamel  platters  or  wicker  jars,  fruit,  masses  of  fruit, 
figs,  dates,  pistachios,  jujubes,  pomegranates,  apri- 
cots, huge  bunches  of  grapes,  larger  than  those  which 
bent  the  shoulders  of  the  Hebrews  in  the  land  of 
Canaan,  heavy  watermelons  cut  in  two,  showing  their 
moist,  red  pulp  and  their  rows  of  black  seeds. 

I  had  scarcely  finished  one  of  these  beautiful 
iced  fruits,  when  M.  Le  Mesge  rose. 

^'Gentlemen,  if  you  are  ready,"  he  said  to  Mor- 
hange  and  me. 

"Get  away  from  that  old  dotard  as  soon  as  you 
can,"  whispered  the  Hetman  of  Jitomir  to  me. 
"The  party  of  Trente  et  Ouarantc  will  begin  soon. 
You  shall  see.  You  shall  see.  We  go  It  even  harder 
than  at  Cora  Pearl's." 

"Gentlemen,"  repeated  M.  Lc  Me«gc  in  his  dry 
tone. 


128  ATLANTIDA 

We  followed  him.  When  the  three  of  us  were 
back  again  in  the  library,  he  said,  addressing  mc : 

"You,  sir,  asked  a  little  while  ago  what  occult 
power  holds  you  here.  Your  manner  was  threaten- 
ing, and  I  should  have  refused  to  comply  had  it  not 
been  for  your  friend,  whose  knowledge  enables  him 
to  appreciate  better  than  you  the  value  of  the  reve- 
lations I  am  about  to  make  to  you." 

He  touched  a  spring  in  the  side  of  the  wall.  A 
cupboard  appeared,  stuffed  with  books.  He  took 
one. 

"You  are  both  of  you,"  continued  M.  Le  Mesge, 
"in  the  power  of  a  woman.  This  woman,  the  sultan- 
ess,  the  queen,  the  absolute  sovereign  of  Ahaggar, 
is  called  Antinea.  Don't  start,  M.  Morhange,  you 
will  soon  understand." 

He  opened  the  book  and  read  this  sentence  : 

"  'I  must  warn  you  before  I  take  up  the  subject 
matter:  do  not  be  surprised  to  hear  me  call  the  bar- 
barians by  Greek  names.' 

'What  is   that   book?"    stammered    Morhange, 
whose  pallor  terrified  me. 

"This  book,"  M.  Le  Mesge  replied  very  slowly, 
weighing  his  words,  with  an  extraordinary  expres- 
sion of  triumph,  "is  the  greatest,  the  most  beautiful, 
the  most  secret,  of  the  dialogues  of  Plato;  it  is  the 
Critias  of  Atlantis." 

"The  Critias?  But  it  is  unfinished,"  murmured 
Morhange. 


AWAKENING    AT    AHAGGAR        129 

"It  is  unlinishcd  in  I-rance,  in  Europe,  evcryv.'hcrc 
else,"  said  M.  Le  Mesge,  ''but  it  Is  finished  here. 
Look  for  yourself  at  this  copy." 

"But  what  connection,"  repeated  Morhangc,  while 
his  eyes  traveled  avidly  over  the  pages,  "what  con- 
nection can  there  be  between  this  dialogue,  complete, 
— yes,  it  seems  to  me  complete — what  connection 
with  this  woman,  Antinea?  Why  should  it  be  in  her 
possession?" 

"Because,"  replied  the  little  man  imperturbably, 
"this  book  is  her  patent  of  nobility,  her  Ahnanach 
de  Gotha,  in  a  sense,  do  you  understand?  Because 
it  established  her  prodigious  genealogy:  because  she 
is  .   .   ." 

"Because  she  is?"  repeated  Morhange. 

"Because  she  is  the  grand  daughter  of  Neptune, 
the  last  descendant  of  the  Atlantides." 


CHAPTER  IX 


ATLANTIS 


M.  Le  Mesge  looked  at  Morhange  triumphantly. 
It  was  evident  that  he  addressed  himself  exclusively 
to  Morhange,  considering  him  alone  worthy  of  his 
confidences. 

"There  have  been  many,  sir,"  he  said,  "both 
French  and  foreign  officers  who  have  been  brought 
here  at  the  caprice  of  our  sovereign,  Antinea.  You 
are  the  first  to  be  honored  by  my  disclosures.  But 
you  were  the  pupil  of  Berlioux,  and  I  owe  so  much 
to  the  memory  of  that  great  man  that  it  seems  to  me 
I  may  do  him  homage  by  imparting  to  one  of  his 
disciples  the  unique  results  of  my  private  research." 

He  struck  the  bell.     Ferradji  appeared. 

"Coffee  for  these  gentlemen,"  ordered  M.  Le 
Mesge. 

He  handed  us  a  box,  gorgeously  decorated  in  the 
most  flaming  colors,  full  of  Egyptian  cigarettes. 

"I  never  smoke,"  he  explained.  "But  Antinea 
sometimes  comes  here.  These  are  her  cigarettes. 
Help  yourselves,  gentlemen." 

130 


ATLANTIS  131 

I  have  always  had  a  horror  of  tiiat  pale  tobacco 
which  gives  a  barber  of  the  Rue  de  la  Michodicre 
the  illusion  of  oriental  voluptuousness.  But,  in  their 
way,  these  musk-sccnted  cigarettes  were  not  bad,  and 
it  was  a  long  time  since  I  had  used  up  my  stock  of 
Caporal. 

"Here  are  the  back  numbers  of  Le  Vie  Paris- 
ietme,"  said  M.  Le  Mesge  to  me.  "Amuse  yourself 
with  them,  if  you  like,  while  I  talk  to  your  friend." 

"Sir,"  I  replied  brusquely,  "it  is  true  that  I  never 
studied  with  Berlioux.  Nevertheless,  you  must  al- 
low me  to  listen  to  your  conversation :  I  shall  hope 
to  find  something  in  it  to  amuse  me." 

"As  you  wish,"  said  the  little  old  man. 

We  settled  ourselves  comfortably.  Kl.  Le  Mesge 
sat  down  before  the  desk,  shot  his  cuffs,  and  com- 
menced as  follows : 

"However  much,  gentlemen,  I  prize  complete  ob- 
jcQtivity  in  matters  of  erudition,  I  cannot  utterly  de- 
tach my  own  history  from  that  of  the  last  descend- 
ant of  Clito  and  Neptune. 

"I  am  the  creation  of  my  own  efforts.  From  my 
childhood,  the  prodigious  impulse  given  to  the  science 
of  history  by  the  nineteenth  century  has  affected  me. 
I  saw  where  my  way  led.  I  have  followed  it,  in 
spite  of  everything, 

"In  spite  of  everything,  everything — I  mean  it 
literally.  With  no  other  resources  than  my  own 
work  and  merit,  T  was  received  as  Fellow  of  History 


132  ATLANTIDA 

and  Geography  at  the  examination  of  1880.  A 
great  examination!  Among  the  thirteen  who  were 
accepted  there  were  names  which  have  since  become 
Illustrious:  Julian,  Bourgeois,  Auerbach.  .  .  .-  I  do 
not  envy  my  colleagues  on  the  summits  of  their  of- 
ficial honors;  I  read  their  works  with  commiseration; 
and  the  pitiful  errors  to  which  they  are  condemned 
by  the  insufficiency  of  their  documents  would  amply 
counterbalance  my  chagrin  and  fill  me  with  Ironic 
joy,  had  I  not  been  raised  long  since  above  the  satis- 
faction of  self-love. 

"When  I  was  Professor  at  the  Lycee  du  Pare  at 
Lyons.  I  knew  Berlioux  and  followed  eagerly  his 
works  on  African  History.  I  had,  at  that  time,  a 
very  original  Idea  for  my  doctor's  thesis.  I  was  go- 
ing to  establish  a  parallel  between  the  Berber  heroine 
of  the  seventh  century,  who  struggled  against  the 
Arab  invader,  Kahena,  and  the  French  heroine,  Joan 
of  Arc,  who  struggled  against  the  English  invader. 
I  proposed  to  the  Faculte  des  Lettres  at  Paris  this 
title  for  my  thesis:  Joan  of  Arc  and  the  Tuareg. 
This  simple  announcement  gave  rise  to  a  perfect  out- 
cry in  learned  circles,  a  furor  of  ridicule.  My  friends 
warned  me  discreetly.  I  refused  to  believe  them. 
Finally  I  was  forced  to  beheve  when  my  rector  sum- 
moned me  before  him  and,  after  manifesting  an  as- 
tonishing interest  in  my  health,  asked  whether  I 
should  object  to  taking  two  years'  leave  on  half  pay. 
I  refused  indignantly.     The  rector  did  not  Insist; 


ATLANTIS  13.3 

but  fifteen  days  later,  a  ministerial  decree,  with  no 
other  legal  procedure,  assigned  me  tn  one  of  the 
most  insignificant  and  remote  Lycees  of  France,  at 
Mont-de-Mars  an. 

"Realize  my  exasperation  and  you  will  excuse  the 
excesses  to  which  I  delivered  myself  In  that  strange 
country.  What  is  there  to  do  in  Landes,  if  you 
neither  eat  nor  drink?  I  did  both  violently.  My 
pay  melted  away  in  fois  gras,  in  woodcocks,  in  fine 
wines.  The  result  came  quickly  enough  :  in  less  than 
a  year  my  joints  began  to  crack  like  the  over-oiled 
axle  of  a  bicycle  that  has  gone  a  long  way  upon  a 
dusty  track.  A  sharp  attack  of  gout  nailed  me  to 
my  bed.  Fortunately,  in  that  blessed  country,  the 
cure  is  in  reach  of  the  suffering.  So  I  departed  to 
Dax,  at  vacation  time,  to  try  the  waters. 

"I  rented  a  room  on  the  bank  of  the  Adour,  over- 
looking the  Promenade  des  Baignots.  A  charwoman 
took  care  of  It  for  me.  She  worked  also  for  an  old 
gentleman,  a  retired  Examining  Magistrate,  Presi- 
dent of  the  Roger-Ducos  Society,  which  was  a  vague 
scientific  backwater,  in  which  the  scholars  of  the 
neighborhood  applied  themselves  with  prodigious 
incompetence  to  the  most  whimsical  subjects.  One 
afternoon  I  stayed  in  my  room  on  account  of  a 
very  heavy  rain.  The  good  woman  was  energetic- 
ally polishing  the  copper  latch  of  my  door.  She 
used  a  pasce  called  Tripoli,  which  she  spread  upon 
a  paper  and  rubbed  and  rubbed.   .   .   .   The  peculiar 


134  ATLANTIDA 

appearance  of  the  paper  made  me  curious.  I  glanced 
at  it.  'Great  heavens!  Where  did  you  get  this 
paper?'  She  was  perturbed.  *At  my  master's;  he 
has  lots  of  it.  I  tore  this  out  of  a  notebook.'  'Here 
are  ten  francs.      Go  and  get  me  the  notebook.' 

"A  quarter  of  an  hour  later,  she  was  back  with  it. 
By  good  luck  it  lacked  only  one  page,  the  one  with 
which  she  had  been  polishing  my  door.  This  manu- 
script, this  notebook,  have  you  any  idea  what  it  was? 
Merely  the  Voyage  to  Atlantis  of  the  mythologist 
Denis  de  Milet,  which  is  mentioned  by  Diodorus  and 
the  loss  of  which  I  had  so  often  heard  Berlioux  de- 
plore.^ 

"This  inestimable  document  contained  numerous 
quotations  from  the  Critias.  It  gave  an  abstract  of 
the  illustrious  dialogue,  the  sole  existing  copy  of 
which  you  held  in  your  hands  a  little  while  ago.  It 
established  past  controversy  the  location  of  the 
stronghold  of  the  Atlantides,  and  demonstrated  that 
this  site,  which  is  denied  by  science,  was  not  sub- 
merged by  the  waves,  as  is  supposed  by  the  rare  and 
timorous  defenders  of  the  Atlantide  hypothesis.  He 
called  it  the  'central  Mazycian  range.'  You  know 
there  is  no  longer  any  doubt  as  to  the  identification 

1  How  did  the  Voyage  to  Atlantis  arrive  at  Dax?  I  have 
found,  so  far,  only  one  credible  hypothesis :  it  might  have  been 
discovered  in  Africa  by  the  traveller,  de  Behagle,  a  member  of 
the  Roger-Ducos  Society,  who  studied  at  the  college  of  Dax, 
and  later,  on  several  occasions,  visited  the  town.  (Note  by 
M.  Leroux.) 


ATLANTIS  135 

of  the  Mazyces  of  Herodotus  with  the  people  of 
Imoschaoch,  the  Tuareg.  But  the  manuscript  of 
Denys  unquestionably  identifies  the  historical  Mazy- 
ces with  the  Atlantides  of  the  supposed  legend. 

"I  learned,  therefore,  from  Denys,  not  only  that 
the  central  part  of  Atlantis,  the  cradle  and  home  of 
the  dynasty  of  Neptune,  had  not  sunk  in  the  disaster 
described  by  Plato  as  engulfing  the  rest  of  the  At- 
lantide  isle,  but  also  that  it  corresponded  to  the 
Tuareg  Ahaggar,  and  that,  in  this  Ahaggar,  at  least 
in  his  time,  the  noble  dynasty  of  Neptune  was  sup- 
posed to  be  still  existent. 

"The  historians  of  Atlantis  put  the  date  of  the 
cataclysm  which  destroyed  all  or  part  of  that  fam- 
ous country  at  nine  thousand  years  before  Christ. 
If  Denis  de  Milet,  who  wrote  scarcely  three  thousand 
years  ago,  believed  that  in  his  time,  the  dynastic 
issue  of  Neptune  was  still  ruling  its  dominion,  you 
will  understand  that  I  thought  immediately — what 
has  lasted  nine  thousand  years  may  last  eleven  thou- 
sand. From  that  instant  I  had  only  one  aim :  to  find 
the  possible  descendants  of  the  Atlantides,  and,  since 
I  had  many  reasons  for  supposing  them  to  be  debased 
and  ignorant  of  their  original  splendor,  to  inform 
them  of  their  illustrious  descent. 

"You  will  easily  understand  that  I  imparted  none 
of  my  intentions  to  my  superiors  at  the  University. 
To  solicit  their  approval  or  even  their  permission, 
considering  the  attitude  they  had  taken  toward  me, 


136  ATLANTIDA 

would  have  been  almost  certainly  to  invite  confine- 
ment in  a  cell.  So  I  raised  what  I  could  on  my  own 
account,  and  departed  without  trumpet  or  drum  for 
Oran.  On  the  first  of  October  I  reached  In-Salah. 
Stretched  at  my  ease  beneath  a  palm  tree,  at  the 
oasis,  I  took  infinite  pleasure  in  considering  how, 
that  very  day,  the  principal  of  Mont-de-Marsan,  be- 
side himself,  struggling  to  control  twenty  horrible 
urchins  howling  before  the  door  of  an  empty  class 
room,  would  be  telegraphing  wildly  in  all  directions 
in  search  of  his  lost  history  professor." 

M.  Le  Mesge  stopped  and  looked  at  us  to  mark 
his  satisfaction. 

I  admit  that  I  forgot  my  dignity  and  I  forgot  the 
affectation  he  had  steadily  assumed  of  talking  only 
to  Morhange. 

"You  will  pardon  me,  sir.  If  your  discourse  Inter- 
ests me  more  than  I  had  anticipated.  But  you  know 
very  well  that  I  lack  the  fundamental  instruction 
necessary  to  understand  you.  You  speak  of  the 
dynasty  of  Neptune.  What  Is  this  dynasty,  from 
which,  I  believe,  you  trace  the  descent  of  Antinea? 
What  is  her  role  in  the  story  of  Atlantis?" 

M.  Le  Mesge  smiled  with  condescension,  mean- 
time winking  at  Morhange  with  the  eye  nearest  to 
him.  Morhange  was  listening  without  expression, 
without  a  word,  chin  In  hand,  elbow  on  knee. 

"Plato  will  answer  for  me,  sir,"  said  the  Pro- 
fessor. 


ATLANTIS  137 

And  he  added,  with  an  accent  of  inexpressible  pity : 

"Is  it  really  possible  that  you  have  never  made 
the  acquaintance  of  the  introduction  to  the  Critias?" 

He  placed  on  the  table  the  book,  by  which  Mor- 
iiange  had  been  so  strangely  moved.  He  adjusted 
his  spectacles  and  began  to  read.  It  seemed  as  if 
the  magic  of  Plato  vibrated  through  and  transfig- 
ured this  ridiculous  little  old  man. 

"  'Having  drawn  by  lot  the  difterent  parts  of  the 
earth,  the  gods  obtained,  some  a  larger,  and  some, 
a  smaller  share.  It  was  thus  that  Neptune,  having 
received  in  the  division  the  isle  of  Atlantis,  came  to 
place  the  children  he  had  had  by  a  mortal  in  one  part 
of  that  isle.  It  was  not  far  from  the  sea,  a  plain 
situated  in  the  midst  of  the  isle,  the  most  beautiful, 
and,  they  say,  the  most  fertile  of  plains.  About  fifty 
stades  from  that  plain,  In  the  middle  of  the  isle,  was 
a  mountain.  There  dwelt  one  of  those  men  who,  In 
the  very  beginning,  was  born  of  the  Earth,  Evenor, 
with  his  wife,  Leucippo.  They  had  only  one  daugh- 
ter, Clito.  She  was  marriageable  when  her  mother 
and  father  died,  and  Neptune,  being  enamored  of 
her,  married  her.  Neptune  fortified  the  mountain 
where  she  dwelt  by  Isolating  It.  He  made  alternate 
girdles  of  sea  and  land,  the  one  smaller,  the  others 
greater,  two  of  earth  and  three  of  water,  and  cen- 
tered them  round  the  Isle  in  such  a  manner  that  they 
were  at  all  parts  equally  distant!   .   .   ." 

M.  le  Mesge  broke  off  his  reading. 


138  ATLANTIDA 

"Does  this  arrangement  recall  nothing  to  you?" 
he  queried. 

"Morhange,  Morhange!"  I  stammered.  "You 
remember — our  route  yesterday,  our  abduction,  the 
two  corridors  that  we  had  to  cross  before  arriving 
at  this  mountain?  .  .  .  The  girdles  of  earth  and  of 
water?  .  .  .  Two  tunnels,  two  enclosures  of  earth?" 

"Ha !     Ha  !"  chuckled  M.  Le  Mesge. 

He  smiled  as  he  looked  at  me.  I  understood  that 
this  smile  meant:  "Can  he  be  less  obtuse  than  I  had 
supposed?" 

As  if  with  a  mighty  effort,  Morhange  broke  the 
silence. 

"I  understand  well  enough,  I  understand.  .  .  . 
The  three  girdles  of  water.  .  .  .  But  then,  you  are 
supposing,  sir, — an  explanation  the  ingeniousness  of 
which  I  do  not  contest — you  are  supposing  the  exact 
hypothesis  of  the  Saharan  sea!" 

"I  suppose  it,  and  I  can  prove  it,"  replied  the  Iras- 
cible little  old  chap,  banging  his  fist  on  the  table. 
"I  know  well  enough  what  Schirmer  and  the  rest 
have  advanced  against  it.  I  know  It  better  than 
you  do.  I  know  all  about  It,  sir.  I  can  present  all 
the  proofs  for  your  consideration.  And  In  the  mean- 
time, this  evening  at  dinner,  you  will  no  doubt  en- 
joy some  excellent  fish.  And  you  will  tell  me  if  these 
fish,  caught  In  the  lake  that  you  can  see  from  this 
window,  seem  to  you  fresh  water  fish. 

"You  must  realize,"  he  continued  more  calmly, 


ATLANTIS  139 

*the  mistake  of  those  ^vho,  believing  in  Atlantis, 
have  sought  to  explain  the  cataclysm  in  which  they 
suppose  the  whole  island  to  have  sunk.  Without 
exception,  tliey  have  thought  that  it  was  swallowed 
up.  Actually,  there  has  not  been  an  immersion. 
There  has  been  an  emersion.  New  lands  have 
emerged  from  the  Atlantic  wave.  The  desert  has 
replaced  the  sea,  the  scbkhas,  the  salt  lakes,  the 
Triton  lakes,  the  sandy  Syrtes  are  the  desolate  ves- 
tiges of  the  free  sea  water  over  which,  in  former 
days,  the  fleets  swept  with  a  fair  wind  towards  the 
conquest  of  Attica.  Sand  swallows  up  civilization 
better  than  water.  To-day  there  remains  nothing  of 
the  beautiful  isle  that  the  sea  and  winds  kept  gay  and 
verdant  but  this  chalky  mass.  Nothing  has  endured 
In  this  rocky  basin,  cut  off  forever  from  the  living 
world,  but  the  marvelous  oasis  that  you  have  at  your 
feet,  these  red  fruits,  this  cascade,  this  blue  lake, 
sacred  witnesses  to  the  golden  age  that  is  gone.  Last 
evening,  in  coming  here,  you  had  to  cross  the  five 
enclosures:  the  three  belts  of  water,  dry  forever; 
the  two  girdles  of  earth  through  which  are  hollowed 
the  passages  you  traversed  on  camel  back,  where, 
formerly,  the  triremes  floated.  The  only  thing  that, 
in  this  immense  catastrophe,  has  preserved  its  like- 
ness to  its  former  state,  is  this  mountain,  the  moun- 
tain where  Neptune  shut  up  his  well-beloved  Cllto, 
the  daughter  of  Evenor  and  Leucippe,  the  mother 
of  Atlas,  and  the  ancestress  of  Antinea,  the  sover- 


I40  ATLANTIDA 

eign  under  whose  dominion  you  are  about  to  enter 
forever." 

"Sir,"  said  Morhange  with  the  most  exquisite 
courtesy,  "it  would  be  only  a  natural  anxiety  which 
would  urge  us  to  inquire  the  reasons  and  the  end  of 
this  dominion.  But  behold  to  what  extent  your  reve- 
lation interests  me;  I  defer  this  question  of  private 
interest.  Of  late,  in  two  caverns,  it  has  been  my 
fortune  to  discover  Tifinar  inscriptions  of  this  name, 
Antinea.  My  comrade  is  witness  that  I  took  it  for 
a  Greek  name.  I  understand  now,  thanks  to  you  and 
the  divine  Plato,  that  I  need  no  longer  feel  sur- 
prised to  hear  a  barbarian  called  by  a  Greek  name. 
But  I  am  no  less  perplexed  as  to  the  etymology  of 
the  word.     Can  you  enlighten  me?" 

"I  shall  certainly  not  fail  you  there,  sir,"  said  M. 
Le  Mesge.  "I  may  tell  you,  too,  that  you  are  not  the 
first  to  put  to  me  that  question.  Most  of  the  explor- 
ers that  I  have  seen  enter  here  in  the  past  ten  years 
have  been  attracted  in  the  same  way,  intrigued  by 
this  Greek  work  reproduced  in  Tifinar.  I  have  even 
arranged  a  fairly  exact  catalogue  of  these  inscrip- 
tions and  the  caverns  where  they  are  to  be  met  with. 
All,  or  almost  all,  are  accompanied  by  this  legend: 
Antinea.  Here  commences  her  domain.  I  myself 
have  had  repainted  with  ochre  such  as  were  begin- 
ning to  be  effaced.  But,  to  return  to  what  I  was 
telling  you  before,  none  of  the  Europeans  who  have 
followed  this  epigraphic  mystery  here,  have  kept 


ATLANTIS  141 

their  anxiety  to  solve  this  etymology  once  they  found 
themselves  in  Antinea's  palace.  They  all  become 
otherwise  preoccupied.  I  might  make  many  dis- 
closures as  to  the  little  real  importance  which  purely 
scientific  interests  possess  even  for  scholars,  and  the 
quickness  with  which  they  sacrifice  them  to  the  most 
mundane  considerations, — their  own  lives,  for  in- 
stance." 

"Let  us  take  that  up  another  time,  sir,  if  it  is  sat- 
isfactory to  you,"  said  Morhange,  always  admirably 
polite. 

"This  digression  had  only  one  point,  sir:  to  show 
you  that  I  do  not  count  you  among  these  unworthy 
scholars.  You  are  really  eager  to  know  the  origin 
of  this  name,  Antinea,  and  that  before  knowing  what 
kind  of  woman  it  belongs  to  and  her  motives  for 
holding  you  and  this  gentleman  as  her  prisoners." 

I  stared  hard  at  the  little  old  man.  But  he  spoke 
with  profound  seriousness. 

"So  much  the  better  for  you,  my  boy,"  I  thought. 
"Otherwise  it  wouldn't  have  taken  me  long  to  send 
you  through  the  window  to  air  your  ironies  at  your 
case.  The  law  of  gravity  ought  not  to  be  topsy- 
turvy here  at  Ahaggar." 

"You,  no  doubt,  formulated  several  hypotheses 
when  you  first  encountered  the  name,  Antinea,"  con- 
tinued M.  Le  Mesge,  imperturbable  under  my  fixed 
gaze,  addressing  himself  to  Morhange.  "Would 
you  object  to  repeating  them  to  me?" 


142  ATLANTIDA 

"Not  at  all,  sir,"  said  Morhange. 

And,  very  composedly,  he  enumerated  the  ety- 
mological suggestions  I  have  given  previously. 

The  little  man  with  the  cherry-colored  shirt  front 
rubbed  his  hands. 

"Ver};'  good,"  he  admitted  with  an  accent  of  intense 
jubilation.  "Amazingly  good,  at  least  for  one  with 
only  the  modicum  of  Greek  that  you  possess.  But 
it  is  all  none  the  less  false,  super-false." 

"It  is  because  I  suspected  as  much  that  I  put  my 
question  to  you,"  said  Morhange  blandly. 

"I  will  not  keep  you  longer  in  suspense,"  said  M. 
Le  Mesge.  "The  word,  Antinea,  is  composed  as 
follows:  ti  is  nothing  but  a  Tifinar  addition  to  an 
essentially  Greek  name.  Ti  is  the  Berber  feminine 
article.  We  have  several  examples  of  this  combina- 
tion. Take  Tipasa,  the  North  African  town.  The 
name  means  the  whole,  from  ti  and  from  van. 
So,  tinea  signifies  the  new,  from  ti  and  from    ea." 

"And  the  prefix  anf"  queried  Morhange. 

"Is  it  possible,  sir,  that  I  have  put  myself  to  the 
trouble  of  talking  to  you  for  a  solid  hour  about  the 
Critiasi  with  such  trifling  effect?  It  is  certain  that 
the  prefix  an,  alone,  has  no  meaning.  You  will 
understand  that  it  has  one,  when  I  tell  you  that  we 
have  here  a  very  curious  case  of  apocope.  You  must 
not  read  an;  you  must  read  atlan.  Atl  has  been  lost, 
by  apocope;  an  has  survived.  To  sum  up,  Antinea 
is  composed  in  the  following  manner:  I  ri-vea    — 


ATLANTIS  143 

otX  *Ai/.  And  its  meaning,  the  ticxv  .Atlantis, 
is  dazzlingly  apparent  from  this  demonstration." 

I  looked  at  Morhange.  His  astonishment  was 
without  bonnds.  The  Berber  prefix  //  had  literally 
stunned  him. 

"Have  you  had  occasion,  sir,  to  verify  this  very 
ingenious  etymology?"  he  was  finally  able  to  gasp 
out. 

"You  have  only  to  glance  over  these  few  books," 
said  M.  Le  Mesge  disdainfully. 

He  opened  successively  five,  ten,  twenty  cup- 
boards. An  enormous  library  was  spread  out  to  our 
view. 

"Everything,  everj'-thing — it  is  all  here,"  mur- 
mured Morhange,  with  an  astonishing  inflection  of 
terror  and  admiration. 

"Everything  that  is  worth  consulting,  at  any  rate," 
said  M.  Le  Mesge.  "All  the  great  books,  whose 
loss  the  so-called  learned  world  deplores  to-day." 

"And  how  has  it  happened?" 

"Sir,  you  distress  me.  I  thought  you  familiar  with 
certain  events.  You  are  forgetting,  then,  the  passage 
where  Pliny  the  Elder  speaks  of  the  library  of  Carth- 
age and  the  treasures  which  were  accumulated  there? 
In  146,  when  that  city  fell  under  the  blows  of  the 
knave,  Scipio,  the  incredible  collection  of  illiterates 
who  bore  the  nam.e  of  the  Roman  Senate  had  only 
the  profoundest  contempt  for  these  riches.  They 
presented  them  to  the  native  kings.     This  is  how 


144  ATLANTIDA 

Mantabal  received  this  priceless  heritage;  It  was 
transmitted  to  his  son  and  grandson,  Hiempsal,  Juba 
I,  Juba  II,  the  husband  of  the  admirable  Cleopatra 
Selene,  the  daughter  of  the  great  Cleopatra  and 
Mark  Antony.  Cleopatra  Selene  had  a  daughter 
who  married  an  Atlantide  king.  This  Is  how  An- 
tinea,  the  daughter  of  Neptune,  counts  among  her 
ancestors  the  immortal  queen  of  Egypt.  That  is 
how,  by  following  the  laws  of  Inheritance,  the  re- 
mains of  the  library  of  Carthage,  enriched  by  the 
remnants  of  the  librar)''  of  Alexandria,  are  actually 
before  your  eyes. 

"Science  fled  from  man.  While  he  was  building 
those  monstrous  Babels  of  pseudo-science  In  Berlin, 
London,  Paris,  Science  was  taking  refuge  in  this 
desert  corner  of  Ahaggar.  They  may  well  forge 
their  hypotheses  back  there,  based  on  the  loss  of  the 
mysterious  works  of  antiquity:  these  works  are  not 
lost.  They  are  here.  They  are  here:  the  Hebrew, 
the  Chaldean,  the  Assyrian  books.  Here,  the  great 
Egyptian  traditions  which  inspired  Solon,  Herodotus 
and  Plato.  Here,  the  Greek  mythologists,  the  ma- 
gicians of  Roman  Africa,  the  Indian  mystics,  all  the 
treasures.  In  a  word,  for  the  lack  of  which  contem- 
porary dissertations  are  poor  laughable  things.  Be- 
lieve me,  he  Is  well  avenged,  the  little  universitarlan 
whom  they  took  for  a  madman,  whom  they  defied. 
I  have  lived,  I  live,  I  shall  live  In  a  perpetual  burst 
of  laughter  at  their  false   and  garbled  erudition. 


ATLANTIS  145 

And  when  I  shall  he  dead,  l"'rror, — thanks  to  the 
jealous  precaution  of  Neptune  taken  to  isolate  his 
well-beloved  Clito  from  the  rest  of  the  world, — 
Error,  I  say,  will  continue  to  reign  as  sovereign  mis- 
tress over  their  pitiful  compositions." 

"Sir,"  said  Morhange  in  a  grave  voice,  "you  have 
just  affirmed  the  influence  of  I-gypt  on  the  civiliza- 
tions of  tiie  people  here.  For  reasons  which  some 
day,  perhaps,  I  shall  have  occasion  to  explain  to  you, 
I  would  like  to  have  proof  of  that  relationship." 

"We  need  not  wait  for  that,  sir,"  said  M.  Lc 
Mesge.     Then,  in  my  turn,  I  advanced. 

"Two  words,  if  you  please,  sir,"  I  said  brutally. 
"I  will  not  hide  from  you  that  these  historical  dis- 
cussions seem  to  me  absolutely  out  of  place.  It  is 
not  my  fault  if  you  have  had  trouble  with  the  Uni- 
versity, and  if  you  are  not  to-day  at  the  College  of 
France  or  elsewhere.  For  the  moment,  just  one  thing 
concerns  me:  to  know  just  what  this  lady,  Antinea, 
wants  with  us.  My  comrade  would  like  to  know  her 
relation  with  ancient  Egypt:  very  well.  For  my 
part,  I  desire  above  everything  to  know  her  rela- 
tions with  the  government  of  Algeria  and  the 
Arabian  Bureau." 

M.  Le  Mesge  gave  a  strident  laugh. 

"I  am  going  to  give  you  an  answer  that  will  sat- 
isfy you  both,"  he  replied. 

And  he  added: 

"Follow  me.     It  is  time  that  vou  should  learn." 


CHAPTER  X 


THE   RED   MARBLE    HALL 


We  passed  through  an  interminable  series  of 
stairs  and  corridors  following  M.  Le  Mesge. 

"You  lose  all  sense  of  direction  in  this  labyrinth," 
I  muttered  to  Morhange. 

"Worse  still,  you  will  lose  your  head,"  answered 
my  companion  sotto  voce.  "This  old  fool  is  cer- 
tainly very  learned;  but  God  knows  what  he  is  driv- 
ing at.  However,  he  has  promised  that  we  are  soon 
to  know." 

M.  Le  Mesge  had  stopped  before  a  heavy  dark 
door,  all  incrusted  with  strange  symbols.  Turning 
the  lock  with  difficulty,  he  opened  It. 

"Enter,  gentlemen,  I  beg  you,"  he  said. 

A  gust  of  cold  air  struck  us  full  in  the  face.  The 
room  we  were  entering  was  chill  as  a  vault. 

At  first,  the  darkness  allowed  me  to  form  no  idea 
of  Its  proportions.  The  lighting,  purposely  subdued, 
consisted  of  twelve  enormous  copper  lamps,  placed 
column-like  upon  the  ground  and  burning  with  bril- 
liant red  flames.     As  we  entered,  the  wind  from  the 

146 


THE     RED     MARBLE     HALL     147 

corridor  made  the  flames  flicker,  momentarily  cast- 
ing about  us  our  own  enlarged  and  misshapen  shad- 
ows. Then  the  gust  died  down,  and  the  flames,  no 
longer  flurried,  again  licked  up  the  darkness  with 
their  motionless  red  tongues. 

These  twelve  giant  lamps  (each  one  about  ten  feet 
high)  were  arranged  in  a  kind  of  crown,  the  diam- 
eter of  which  must  have  been  about  fifty  feet.  In 
the  center  of  this  circle  wis  a  dark  mass,  all  streaked 
with  trembling  red  reflections.  When  I  drew  nearer, 
I  saw  it  was  a  bubbling  fountain.  It  was  the  fresh- 
ness of  this  water  which  had  maintained  the  tem- 
perature of  which  I  have  spoken. 

Huge  seats  were  cut  in  the  central  rock  from  which 
gushed  the  murmuring,  shadowy  fountain.  They 
were  heaped  with  silky  cushions.  Twelve  incense 
burners,  within  the  circle  of  red  lamps,  formed  a 
second  crown,  half  as  large  in  diameter.  Their 
smoke  mounted  toward  the  vault,  invisible  in  the 
darkness,  but  their  perfume,  combined  with  the  cool- 
ness and  sound  of  the  water,  banished  from  the  soul 
all  other  desire  than  to  remain  there  forever. 

M.  Le  Mesge  made  us  sit  down  in  the  center  of 
the  hall,  on  the  Cyclopean  seats.  He  seated  himself 
between  us. 

"In  a  few  minutes,"  he  said,  "your  eyes  will  grow 
accustomed  to  the  obscurity." 

I  noticed  that  he  spoke  in  a  hushed  voice,  as  if  he 
were  in  church. 


148  ATLANTIDA 

Little  by  little,  our  eyes  did  indeed  grow  used  to 
the  red  light.  Only  the  lower  part  of  the  great  hall 
was  illuminated.  The  whole  vault  was  drowned  in 
shadow  and  its  height  was  impossible  to  estimate. 
Vaguely,  I  could  perceive  overhead  a  great  smooth 
gold  chandelier,  flecked,  like  everything  else,  with 
sombre  red  reflections.  But  there  was  no  means  of 
judging  the  length  of  the  chain  by  which  It  hung 
from  the  dark  ceiling. 

The  marble  of  the  pavement  was  of  so  high  a 
polish,  that  the  great  torches  were  reflected  even 
there. 

This  room,  I  repeat,  was  round  a  perfect  cir- 
cle of  which  the  fountain  at  our  backs  was  the 
center. 

We  sat  facing  the  curving  walls.  Before  long, 
we  began  to  be  able  to  see  them.  They  were  of 
peculiar  construction,  divided  into  a  series  of  niches, 
broken,  ahead  of  us,  by  the  door  which  had  just 
opened  to  give  us  passage,  behind  us,  by  a  second 
door,  a  still  darker  hole  which  I  divined  in  the  dark- 
ness when  I  turned  around.  From  one  door  to  the 
other,  I  counted  sixty  niches,  making,  in  all,  one 
hundred  and  twenty.  Each  was  about  ten  feet  high. 
Each  contained  a  kind  of  case,  larger  above  than  be- 
low, closed  only  at  the  lower  end.  In  all  these  cases, 
except  two  just  opposite  me,  I  thought  I  could  dis- 
cern a  brilliant  shape,  a  human  shape  certainly,  some- 
thing like  a  statue  of  very  pale  bronze.     In  the  arc 


THE     RED     MARBLE     HALL     149 

of  the  circle  before  me,  I  counted  clearly  thirty  of 
these  strange  statues. 

What  were  these  statues?  I  v/anted  to  see.  I 
rose. 

M.  Le  Mesge  put  his  hand  on  my  arm. 

"In  good  time,"  he  mumiured  in  the  same  low 
voice,  "all  in  good  time." 

The  Professor  was  watching  the  door  by  which 
we  had  entered  the  hall,  and  from  behind  which  we 
could  hear  the  sound  of  footsteps  becoming  more 
and  more  distinct. 

It  opened  quietly  to  admit  three  Tuareg  slaves. 
Two  of  them  were  carrying  a  long  package  on  their 
shoulders;  the  third  seemed  to  be  their  chief. 

At  a  sign  from  him,  they  placed  the  package  on 
the  ground  and  drew  out  from  one  of  the  niches  the 
case  which  it  contained. 

"You  may  approach,  gentlemen,"  said  M.  Le 
Mesge. 

He  motioned  the  three  Tuareg  to  withdraw  sev- 
eral paces. 

"You  asked  me,  not  long  since,  for  some  proof 
of  the  Egyptian  influence  on  this  country,"  said  M. 
Le  Mesge.  "What  do  you  say  to  that  case,  to  be- 
gin with?" 

As  he  spoke,  he  pointed  to  the  case  that  the  ser- 
vants had  deposited  upon  the  ground  after  they  took 
it  from  its  niche. 

Morhange  uttered  a  thick  cry. 


ISO  ATLANTIDA 

We  had  before  us  one  of  those  cases  designed 
for  the  preservation  of  mummies.  The  same  shiny 
wood,  the  same  bright  decorations,  the  only  differ- 
ence being  that  here  Tlfinar  writing  replaced  the 
hieroglyphics.  The  form,  narrow  at  the  base, 
broader  above,  ought  to  have  been  enough  to  en- 
lighten us. 

I  have  already  said  that  the  lower  half  of  this 
large  case  was  closed,  giving  the  whole  structure  the 
appearance  of  a  rectangular  wooden  shoe. 

M.  Le  Mesge  knelt  and  fastened  on  the  lower 
part  of  the  case,  a  square  of  white  cardboard,  a 
large  label,  that  he  had  picked  up  from  his  desk,  a 
few  minutes  before,  on  leaving  the  library. 

"You  may  read,"  he  said  simply,  but  still  in  the 
same  low  tone. 

I  knelt  also,  for  the  light  of  the  great  candelabra 
was  scarcely  sufficient  to  read  the  label  where, 
none  the  less,  I  recognized  the  Professor's  hand- 
writing. 

It  bore  these  few  words,  in  a  large  round  hand: 

"Number  53.  Major  Sir  Archibald  Russell, 
Born  at  Richmond,  July  5,  i860.  Died  at  Ahaggar, 
December  3,  1896." 

I  leapt  to  my  feet. 

"Major  Russell!"  I  exclaimed. 

"Not  so  loud,  not  so  loud,"  said  M.  Le  Mesge. 
"No  one  speaks  out  loud  here." 

"The  Major  Russell,"  I  repeated,  obeying  his  in- 


THE     RED    MARBLK     HALL     151 

junction  as  if  in  spite  of  myself,  "who  left  Khartoum 
last  year,  to  explore  Sokoto?" 

"The  same,"  replied  the  Professor. 

"And  .   .   .   where  is  Major  Russell?" 

"He  is  there,"  replied  M.  Le  Mesge. 

The  Professor  made  a  gesture.  The  Tuareg  ap- 
proached. 

A  poignant  silence  reigned  in  the  mysterious  hall, 
broken  only  by  the  fresh  splashing  of  the  fountain. 

The  three  negroes  were  occupied  in  undoinfT^  the 
package  that  they  had  put  down  near  the  painted 
case.  Weighed  down  with  wordless  horror,  Mor- 
hange  and  I  stood  watching. 

Soon,  a  rigid  form,  a  human  form,  appeared.  A 
red  gleam  played  over  it.  We  had  before  us, 
stretched  out  upon  the  ground,  a  statue  of  pale 
bronze,  wrapped  in  a  kind  of  white  veil,  a  statue  like 
those  all  around  us,  upright  in  their  niches.  It 
seemed  to  fix  us  with  an  impenetrable  gaze. 

"Sir  Archibald  Russell,"  murmured  M.  Le  Mesge 
slowly. 

Morhange  approached,  speechless,  but  strong 
enough  to  lift  up  the  white  veil.  For  a  long,  long 
time  he  gazed  at  the  sad  bronze  statue. 

"A  mummy,  a  mummy?"  he  said  finally.  "You 
deceive  yourself,  sir,  this  is  no  mummy." 

"Accurately  speaking,  no,"  replied  M.  Le  Mesge. 
"This  is  not  a  mummy.  None  the  less,  you  have  be- 
fore you  the  mortal  remains  of  Sir  Archibald  Rus- 


152  ATLANTIDA 

sell.  I  must  point  out  to  you,  here,  my  dear  sir,  that 
the  processes  of  embalming  used  by  Antinea  differ 
from  the  processes  employed  in  ancient  Egypt. 
Here,  there  is  no  natron,  nor  bands,  nor  spices.  The 
industry  of  Ahaggar,  in  a  single  effort,  has  achieved 
a  result  obtained  by  European  science  only  after  long 
experiments.  Imagine  my  surprise,  when  I  arrived 
here  and  found  that  they  were  employing  a  method 
I  supposed  known  only  to  the  civilized  world." 

M.  Le  Mesge  struck  a  light  tap  with  his  finger 
on  the  forehead  of  Sir  Archibald  Russell.  It  rang 
like  metal. 

"It  is  bronze,"  I  said.  "That  is  not  a  human 
forehead:  it  is  bronze." 

M.  Le  Mesge  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"It  is  a  human  forehead,"  he  affirmed  curtly,  "and 
not  bronze.  Bronze  is  darker,  sir.  This  Is  the  great 
unknown  metal  of  which  Plato  speaks  in  the  Critias, 
and  which  is  something  between  gold  and  silver :  it 
is  the  special  metal  of  the  mountains  of  the  Atlan- 
tides.     It  is  orichalch.^' 

Bending  again,  I  satisfied  myself  that  this  metal 
was  the  same  as  that  with  which  the  walls  of  the  li- 
brary were  overcast. 

"It  is  orichalch,"  continued  M.  Le  Mesge.  "You 
look  as  if  you  had  no  idea  how  a  human  body  can 
look  like  a  statue  of  orichalch.  Come,  Captain  Mor- 
hange,  you  whom  I  gave  credit  for  a  certain  amount 
of  knowledge,  have  you  never  heard  of  the  method 


THE     RED     MARBLE     HALL     153 

of  Dr.  Variot,  by  which  a  human  body  can  he  pre- 
served without  embalming?  Have  you  never  read 
the  book  of  that  practitioner?^  He  explains  a 
method  called  electro-plating.  The  skin  is  coated 
with  a  very  thin  layer  of  silver  salts,  to  make  it  a 
conductor.  The  body  then  is  placed  in  a  solution  of 
copper  sulphate,  and  the  polar  currents  do  their 
work.  The  body  of  this  estimable  English  major 
has  been  metalized  in  the  same  manner,  except  that 
a  solution  of  orichalch  sulphate,  a  very  rare  sub- 
stance, has  been  substituted  for  that  of  copper  sul- 
phate. Thus,  instead  of  the  statue  of  a  poor  slave, 
a  copper  statue,  you  have  before  you  a  statue  of 
metal  more  precious  than  silver  or  gold,  in  a  word, 
a  statue  worthy  of  the  granddaughter  of  Neptune." 

\L  Le  Mesge  waved  his  arm.  The  black  slaves 
seized  the  body.  In  a  few  seconds,  they  slid  the  ori- 
chalch ghost  into  its  painted  wooden  sheath.  That 
was  set  on  end  and  slid  into  its  niche,  beside  the  niche 
where  an  exactly  similar  sheath  was  labelled  "Num- 
ber 52." 

Upon  finishing  their  task,  they  retired  without  a 
word.  A  draught  of  cold  air  from  the  door  again 
made  the  flames  of  the  copper  torches  flicker  and 
threw  great  shadows  about  us. 

Morhange  and  I  remained  as  motionless  as  the 
pale  metal  specters  which  surrounded  us.     Suddenly 

1  Variot:    L'anthropologie  galvanique.     Paris,  1890.     (Note  by 
M.  Leroux.) 


154  '  ATLANTIDA 

I  pulled  myself  together  and  staggered  forward  to 
the  niche  beside  that  in  which  they  just  had  laid  the 
remains  of  the  English  major.  I  looked  for  the 
label. 

Supporting  myself  against  the  red  marble  wall,  I 
read: 

"Number  52.  Captain  Laurent  Deligne.  Born 
at  Paris,  July  22,  1861.  Died  at  Ahaggar,  October 
30,  1896." 

"Captain  Deligne!"  murmured  Morhahge.  "He 
left  Colomb-Bechar  in  1895  for  Timmimoun  and  no 
more  has  been  heard  of  him  since  then." 

"Exactly,"  said  M.  Le  Mesge,  with  a  little  nod 
of  approval. 

"Number  51,"  read  Morhange  with  chattering 
teeth.  "Colonel  von  Wittman,  born  at  Jena  in  1855. 
Died  at  Ahaggar,  May  I,  1896.  .  .  .  Colonel  Witt- 
man,  the  explorer  of  Kanem,  who  disappeared  off 
Agades." 

"Exactly,"  said  M.  Le  Mesge  again. 

"Number  50,"  I  read  in  my  turn,  steadying  my- 
self against  the  wall,  so  as  not  to  fall.  "Marquis 
Alonzo  d'Oliveira,  born  at  Cadiz,  February  21, 
1868.  Died  at  Ahaggar,  February  i,  1896.  Oliv- 
eira,  who  was  going  to  Araouan." 

"Exactly,"  said  M.  Le  Mesge  again.  "That  Span- 
iard was  one  of  the  best  educated.  I  used  to  have 
interesting  discussions  with  him  on  the  exact  geo- 
graphical position  of  the  kingdom  of  Antee." 


THE     RED     M  A  R  B  L  I".     MALI.     1 55 

''Number  49,"  said  Morhanpe  In  a  tone  scarcely 
more  than  a  whisper.  "Lieutenant  Woodhouse, 
born  at  Liverpool,  September  16,  1870.  Died  at 
Ahaggar,  October  4,   1895." 

"Hardly  more  than  a  child,"  said  M.  Le  Mesgc. 

"Number  48,"  I  said.  "Lieutenant  Louis  de 
Maillefeu,  born  at  Provins,  the  .   .   ." 

I  did  not  finish.     My  voice  choked. 

Louis  de  Maillefeu,  my  best  friend,  the  friend  of 
my  childhood  and  of  Saint-Cyr.  ...  I  looked  at 
him  and  recognized  him  under  the  metallic  coating. 
Louis  de  Maillefeu ! 

I  laid  my  forehead  against  the  cold  wall  and, 
with  shaking  shoulders,  began  to  sob. 

I  heard  the  muffled  voice  of  Morhange  speaking 
to  the  Professor: 

"Sir,  this  has  lasted  long  enough.  Let  us  make 
an  end  to  It." 

"He  wanted  to  know,"  said  ^L  Le  Mesge. 
"What  am  I  to  do?" 

I  went  up  to  him  and  seized  his  shoulders. 

"What  happened  to  him?    What  did  he  die  of?" 

"Just  like  the  others,"  the  Professor  replied,  "just 
like  Lieutenant  Woodhouse,  like  Captain  Deligne, 
like  Major  Russell,  like  Colonel  van  Wittman,  like 
the  forty-seven  of  yesterday  and  all  those  of  to-mor- 
row." 

"Of  what  did  they  die?"  Morhange  demanded 
imperatively  in  his  turn. 


156  ATLANTIDA 

The  Professor  looked  at  Morhange.  I  saw  my 
comrade  grow  pale. 

"Of  what  did  they  die,  sir?     They  died  of  love.'* 

And  he  added  in  a  very  low,  very  grave  voice : 

"Now  you  know." 

Gently  and  with  a  tact  which  we  should  hardly 
have  suspected  in  him,  M,  Le  Mesge  drew  us 
away  from  the  statues.  A  moment  later,  Morhange 
and  I  found  ourselves  again  seated,  or  rather  sunk 
among  the  cushions  in  the  center  of  the  room.  The 
invisible  fountain  murmured  its  plaint  at  our  feet. 

Le  Mesge  sat  between  us. 

"Now  you  know,"  he  repeated.  "You  know,  but 
you  do  not  yet  understand." 

Then,  very  slowly,  he  said: 

"You  are,  as  they  have  been,  the  prisoners  of 
Antlnea.     And  vengeance  is  due  Antinea." 

"Vengeance?"  said  Morhange,  who  had  regained 
his  self-possession.  "For  what,  I  beg  to  ask?  What 
have  the  lieutenant  and  I  done  to  Atlantis?  How 
have  we  incurred  her  hatred?" 

"It  is  an  old  quarrel,  a  very  old  quarrel,"  the 
Professor  replied  gravely.  "A  quarrel  which  long 
antedates  you,  M.  Morhange." 

"Explain  yourself,  I  beg  of  you,  Professor." 

"You  are  Man.  She  is  a  Woman,"  said  the 
dreamy  voice  of  M.  Le  Mesge.  "The  whole  mat- 
ter lies  there." 

"Really,  sir,  I  do  not  see  .  .  .  we  do  not  see." 


THE     RED     MARBLE     HALL     157 

"You  are  going  to  understand.  Have  you  really 
forgotten  to  what  an  extent  the  beautiful  queens  of 
antiquity  had  just  cause  to  complain  of  the  strangers 
whom  fortune  brought  to  their  borders?  The  poet, 
Victor  Hugo,  pictured  their  detestable  acts  well 
enough  in  his  colonial  poem  called  la  Fille  d'0-Taiti. 
Wherever  we  look,  we  see  similar  examples  of 
fraud  and  ingratitude.  These  gentlemen  made  free 
use  of  the  beauty  and  the  riches  of  the  lady.  Then, 
one  fine  morning,  they  disappeared.  She  was  in- 
deed lucky  if  her  lover,  having  observed  the  position 
carefully,  did  not  return  with  ships  and  troops  of 
occupation. 

"Your  learning  charms  me,"  said  Morhange. 
"Continue." 

"Do  you  need  examples?  Alas!  they  abound. 
Think  of  the  cavalier  fashion  in  which  Ulysses 
treated  Calypso,  Diomedes  Callirhoe.  What  should 
I  say  of  Theseus  and  Ariadne?  Jason  treated 
Medea  with  inconceivable  lightness.  The  Romans 
continued  the  tradition  with  still  greater  brutalit>\ 
Aenaeus,  who  has  many  characteristics  in  common 
with  the  Reverend  Spardek,  treated  Dido  in  a  most 
undeserved  fashion.  Caesar  was  a  laurel-crowned 
blackguard  in  his  relations  wnth  the  divine  Cleo- 
patra. Titus,  that  hypocrite  Titus,  after  having 
lived  a  whole  year  in  Idummea  at  the  expense  of  the 
plaintive  Berenice,  took  her  back  to  Rome  only  to 
make  game  of  her.    It  is  time  that  the  sons  of  Japhet 


158  ATLANTIDA 

paid  this   formidable   reckoning  of  injuries  to  the 
daughters  of  Shem. 

"A  woman  has  taken  it  upon  herself  to  re-estab- 
lish the  great  Hegelian  law  of  equilibrium  for  the 
benefit  of  her  sex.  Separated  from  the  Aryan  world 
by  the  formidable  precautions  of  Neptune,  she 
draws  the  youngest  and  bravest  to  her.  Her  body 
is  condescending,  while  her  spirit  is  inexorable.  She 
takes  what  these  bold  young  men  can  give  her.  She 
lends  them  her  body,  while  her  soul  dominates  them. 
She  is  the  first  sovereign  who  has  never  been  made 
the  slave  of  passion,  even  for  a  moment.  She  has 
never  been  obliged  to  regain  her  self-mastery,  for 
she  never  has  lost  it.  She  is  the  only  woman  who 
has  been  able  to  disassociate  those  two  inextricable 
things,  love  and  voluptuousness." 

M.  Le  Mesge  paused  a  moment  and  then  went  on. 

"Once  every  day,  she  comes  to  this  vault.  She 
stops  before  the  niches;  she  meditates  before  the 
rigid  statues;  she  touches  the  cold  bosoms,  so  burn- 
ing when  she  knew  them.  Then,  after  dreaming 
before  the  empty  niche  where  the  next  victim  soon 
will  sleep  his  eternal  sleep  in  a  cold  case  of  orichalch, 
she  returns  nonchalantly  where  he  is  waiting  for 
her." 

The  Professor  stopped  speaking.  The  fountain 
again  made  itself  heard  in  the  midst  of  the  shadow. 
My  pulses  beat,  my  head  seemed  on  fire.  A  fever 
was  consuming  me. 


THE     RED     MARBLE     HA  EL     159 

"And  all  of  them,"  I  cried,  regardless  of  the 
place,  "all  of  them  complied!  They  submitted! 
Well,  she  has  only  to  come  and  she  will  see  what 
will  happen." 

Morhange  was  silent. 

"My  dear  sir,"  said  ^L  Le  Mesge  in  a  very  gentle 
voice,  "you  are  speaking  like  a  child.  You  do  not 
know.  You  hnve  not  seen  Antinea.  Let  me  tell 
you  one  thing:  that  among  those" — and  with  a 
sweeping  gesture  he  indicated  the  silent  circle  of 
statues — "there  were  men  as  courageous  as  you  and 
perhaps  less  excitable.  I  remember  one  of  them 
especially  well,  a  phlegmatic  Englishman  who  now 
is  resting  under  Number  32.  When  he  first  ap- 
peared before  Antinea,  he  was  smoking  a  cigar. 
And,  like  all  the  rest,  he  bent  before  the  gaze  of  his 
sovereign. 

"Do  not  speak  until  you  have  seen  her.  A  uni- 
versity training  hardly  fits  one  to  discourse  upon 
matters  of  passion,  and  I  feel  scarcely  qualified,  my- 
self, to  tell  you  what  Antinea  is.  I  only  affirm  this, 
that  when  you  have  seen  her,  you  will  remember 
nothing  else.  Family,  country,  honor,  you  will  re- 
nounce everything  for  her." 

"Everything?"  asked  Morhange  in  a  calm  voice. 

"Everything,"  Le  Mesge  Insisted  emphatically. 
"You  will  forget  all,  you  will  renounce  all." 

From  outside,  a  faint  sound  came  to  us. 

Le  Mesge  consulted  his  watch. 


i6o  ATLANTIDA 

"In  any  case,  you  will  see." 

The  door  opened.  A  tall  white  Targa,  the  tallest 
we  had  yet  seen  in  this  remarkable  abode,  entered 
and  came  toward  us. 

He  bowed  and  touched  me  lightly  on  the  shoulder, 

"Follow  him,"  said  M.  Le  Mesge. 

Without  a  word,  I  obeyed. 


CHAPTER  XI 


ANTINEA 


My  guide  and  I  passed  along  another  long  cor- 
ridor. My  excitement  increased.  I  was  impatient 
for  one  thing  only,  to  come  face  to  face  with  that 
woman,  to  tell  her  ...  So  far  as  anything  else 
was  concerned,  I  already  was  done  for. 

I  was  mistaken  in  hoping  that  the  adventure  would 
take  an  heroic  turn  at  once.  In  real  life,  these  con- 
trasts never  are  definitely  marked  out.  I  should 
have  remembered  from  many  past  incidents  that  the 
burlesque  was  regularly  mixed  with  the  tragic  in  my 
life. 

We  reached  a  little  transparent  door.  My  guide 
stood  aside  to  let  me  pass. 

I  found  myself  in  the  most  luxurious  of  dressing- 
rooms.  A  ground  glass  ceiling  diffused  a  gay  rosy 
light  over  the  marble  floor.  The  first  thing  I  no- 
ticed was  a  clock,  fastened  to  the  wall.  In  place  of 
the  figures  for  the  hours,  were  the  signs  of  the 
Zodiac.  The  small  hand  had  not  yet  reached  the 
sign  of  Capricorn. 

i6i 


i62  ATLANTIDA 

Only  three  o'clock ! 

The  day  seemed  to  have  lasted  a  century  al- 
ready. .  .  .  And  only  a  little  more  than  half  of  it 
was  gone. 

Another  idea  came  to  me,  and  a  convulsive  laugh 
bent  me  double. 

"Antinea  wants  me  to  be  at  my  best  when  I  meet 
her.' 

A  mirror  of  orichalch  formed  one  whole  side  of 
the  room.  Glancing  into  it,  I  realized  that  in  all 
decency  there  was  nothing  exaggerated  in  the  de- 
mand. 

My  untrimmed  beard,  the  frightful  layer  of  dirt 
which  lay  about  my  eyes  and  furrowed  my  cheeks, 
my  clothing,  spotted  by  all  the  clay  of  the  Sahara 
and  torn  by  all  the  thorns  of  Ahaggar — all  this  made 
me  appear  a  pitiable  enough  suitor. 

I  lost  no  time  in  undressing  and  plunging  Into 
the  porphry  bath  in  the  center  of  the  room.  A  de- 
licious drowsiness  came  over  me  in  that  perfumed 
water.  A  thousand  little  jars,  spread  on  a  costly 
carved  wood  dressing-table,  danced  before  my  eyes. 
They  were  of  all  sizes  and  colors,  carved  in  a  very 
transparent  kind  of  jade.  The  warm  humidity  of 
the  atmosphere  hastened  my  relaxation. 

I  still  had  strength  to  think,  "The  devil  take  At- 
lantis and  the  vault  and  Le  Mesge." 

Then  I  fell  asleep  in  the  bath. 

When  I  opened  my  eyes  again,  the  little  hand  of 


AN  TINE  A  163 

the  clock  had  almost  reached  the  s'\gn  of  Taurus. 
Before  me,  his  hlack  hands  braced  on  the  edge  of  the 
bath,  stood  a  huge  negro,  bare-faced  and  bare- 
armed,  his  forehead  bound  with  an  immense  orange 
turban. 

He  looked  at  me  and  showed  his  white  teeth  in  a 
silent  laugh. 

"Who  is  this  fellow?" 

The  negro  laughed  harder.  Without  saying  a 
word,  he  lifted  me  like  a  feather  out  of  the  per- 
fumed water,  now  of  a  color  on  which  I  shall  not 
dwell. 

In  no  time  at  all,  I  was  stretched  out  on  an  in- 
clined marble  table. 

The  negro  began  to  massage  me  vigorously 

"More  gently  there,  fellow!" 

My  masseur  did  not  reply,  but  laughed  and  rubbed 
still  harder. 

"Where  do  you  come  from?  Kanem?  Torkou? 
You  laugh  too  much  for  a  Targa." 

Unbroken  silence.  The  negro  was  as  speechless 
as  he  was  hilarious. 

"After  all,  I  am  making  a  fool  of  myself,"  I  said, 
giving  up  the  case.  "Such  as  he  is,  he  is  more  agree- 
able than  Le  Mesge  with  his  nightmarish  erudition. 
But,  on  my  word,  what  a  recruit  he  would  be  for 
Hamman  on  the  rue  des  Mathurins!" 

"Cigarette,  sidi?" 

Without  awaiting  my  reply,  he  placed  a  cigarette 


i64  ATLANTIDA 

between  my  lips  and  lighted  it,  and  resumed  his  task 
of  polishing  every  inch  of  me. 

"He  doesn't  talk  much,  but  he  is  obliging,"  I 
thought. 

And  I  sent  a  puff  of  smoke  into  his  face. 

This  pleasantry  seemed  to  delight  him  im- 
mensely. He  showed  his  pleasure  by  giving  me 
great  slaps. 

When  he  had  dressed  me  down  sufficiently,  he  took 
a  little  jar  from  the  dressing-table  and  began  to  rub 
me  with  a  rose-colored  ointment.  Weariness  seemed 
to  fly  away  from  my  rejuvenated  muscles. 

A  stroke  on  a  copper  gong.  My  masseur  disap- 
peared. A  stunted  old  negress  entered,  dressed  in 
the  most  tawdry  tinsel.  She  was  talkative  as  a  mag- 
pie, but  at  first  I  did  not  understand  a  word  in  the 
interminable  string  she  unwound,  while  she  took  first 
my  hands,  then  my  feet,  and  polished  the  nails  with 
determined  grimaces. 

Another  stroke  on  the  gong.  The  old  woman 
gave  place  to  another  negro,  grave,  this  time,  and 
dressed  all  in  white  with  a  knitted  skull  cap  on  his 
oblong  head.  It  was  the  barber,  and  a  remarkably 
dexterous  one.  He  quickly  trimmed  my  hair,  and, 
on  my  word,  it  was  well  done.  Then,  without  ask- 
ing me  what  style  I  preferred,  he  shaved  me  clean. 

I  looked  with  pleasure  at  my  face,  once  more 
visible. 

"Antinea  must  like  the  American  type,"  I  thought. 


A  NT  I  X  F.A  165 

"What  an  affront  to  the  memory  of  her  worthy 
grandfather,  Neptune!" 

The  gay  negro  cntcrecJ  and  phiced  a  package  on 
the  divan.  The  barber  disappeared.  I  was  some- 
what astonished  to  obser\e  that  the  package,  which 
my  new  valet  opened  carefully,  contained  a  suit  of 
white  flannels  exactly  like  those  French  officers  wear 
in  Algeria  in  summer. 

The  wide  trousers  seemed  made  to  m.y  measure. 
The  tunic  fitted  without  a  wrinkle,  and  my  aston- 
ishment was  unbounded  at  observing  that  it  even  had 
two  gilt  (jalons,  the  insignia  of  my  rank,  braided  on 
the  cuffs.  For  shoes,  there  were  slippers  of  red 
Morocco  leather,  with  gold  ornaments.  The  under- 
wear, all  of  silk,  seemed  to  have  come  straight  from 
the  rue  de  la  Paix. 

"Dinner  w^as  excellent,"  I  murmured,  looking  at 
myself  in  the  mirror  with  satisfaction.  "The  apart- 
ment is  perfectly  arranged.     Yes,  but  .   .   ." 

I  could  not  repress  a  shudder  when  I  suddenly  re- 
called that  room  of  red  marble. 

The  clock  struck  half  past  four. 

Someone  rapped  gently  on  the  door.  The  tall 
white  Targa,  who  had  brought  me,  appeared  in  the 
doorway. 

He  stepped  forward,  touched  me  on  the  arm  and 
signed  for  me  to  follow. 

Again  I  followed  him. 

We  passed  through  interminable  corridors.     I  was 


i66  ATLANTIDA 

disturbed,  but  the  warm  water  had  given  me  a  cer- 
tain feeling  of  detachment.  i\nd  above  all,  more 
than  I  wished  to  admit,  I  had  a  growing  sense  of 
lively  curiosity.  If,  at  that  moment,  someone  had 
offered  to  lead  me  back  to  the  route  across  the  white 
plain  near  Shikh-Salah,  would  I  have  accepted? 
Hardly. 

I  tried  to  feel  ashamed  of  my  curiosity.  I  thought 
of  Maillefeu. 

"He,  too,  followed  this  corridor.  And  now  he  is 
down  there,  in  the  red  marble  hall." 

I  had  no  time  to  linger  over  this  reminiscence.  I 
was  suddenly  bowled"  over,  thrown  to  the  ground, 
as  If  by  a  sort  of  meteor.  The  corridor  was  dark; 
I  could  see  nothing.     I  heard  only  a  mocking  growl. 

The  white  Targa  had  flattened  himself  back 
against  the  wall. 

"Good,"  I  mumbled,  picking  myself  up,  "the  devil- 
tries are  beginning." 

We  continued  on  our  way.  A  glow  different  from 
that  of  the  rose  night  lights  soon  began  to  light  up 
the  corridor. 

We  reached  a  high  bronze  door.  In  which  a  strange 
lacy  design  had  been  cut  in  filigree.  A  clear  gong 
sounded,  and  the  double  doors  opened  part  way. 
The  Targa  remained  In  the  corridor,  closing  the 
doors  after  me. 

I  took  a  few  steps  forward  mechanically,  then 
paused,  rooted  to  the  spot,  and  rubbed  my  eyes. 


ANTINEA  167 

I  was  dazzled  by  the  sight  of  the  sky. 

Sev*eral  hours  of  shaded  light  had  unaccustomed 
me  to  daylight.  It  poured  in  through  one  whole  side 
of  the  huge  room. 

The  room  was  in  the  lower  part  of  this  mountain, 
which  was  more  honeycombed  with  corridors  and 
passages  than  an  Eg^'ptian  pyramid.  It  was  on  a 
level  with  the  garden  which  I  had  seen  in  the  morn- 
ing from  the  balcony,  and  seemed  to  be  a  continua- 
tion of  it;  the  carpet  extended  out  under  the  great 
palm  trees  and  the  birds  flew  about  the  forest  of 
pillars  in  the  room. 

By  contrast,  the  half  of  the  room  untouched  by 
direct  light  from  the  oasis  seemed  dark.  The  sun. 
setting  behind  the  mountain,  painted  the  garden 
paths  with  rose  and  flamed  with  red  upon  the  tra- 
ditional flamingo  which  stood  with  one  foot  raised 
at  the  edge  of  the  sapphire  lake. 

Suddenly  I  was  bowled  over  a  second  time. 

I  felt  a  warm,  silky  touch,  a  burning  breath  on  my 
neck.  Again  the  mocking  growl  which  had  so  dis- 
turbed me  in  the  corridor. 

With  a  wrench,  I  pulled  myself  free  and  sent  a 
chance  blow  at  my  assailant.  The  cry,  this  time  of 
pain  and  rage,  broke  out  again. 

It  was  echoed  by  a  long  peal  of  laughter.  Furi- 
ous, I  turned  to  look  for  the  insolent  onlooker,  think- 
ing to  speak  my  mind.  And  then  my  glance  stood 
still. 


i68  ATLANTIDA 

Antinea  was  before  me. 

In  the  dimmest  part  of  the  room,  under  a  kind  of 
arch  lit  by  the  mauve  rays  from  a  dozen  incense- 
lamps,  four  women  lay  on  a  heap  of  many-colored 
cushions  and  rare  white  Persian  rugs. 

I  recognized  the  first  three  as  Tuareg  women,  of 
a  splendid  regular  beauty,  dressed  in  magnificent 
robes  of  white  silk,  embroidered  in  gold.  The  fourth, 
very  dark  skinned,  almost  negroid,  seemed  younger. 
A  tunic  of  red  silk  enhanced  the  dusk  of  her  face, 
her  arms  and  her  bare  feet.  The  four  were  grouped 
about  a  sort  of  throne  of  white  rugs,  covered  with  a 
gigantic  lion's  skin,  on  which,  half  raised  on  one  el- 
bow, lay  Antinea. 

Antinea !  Whenever  I  saw  her  after  that,  I  won- 
dered if  I  had  really  looked  at  her  before,  so  much 
more  beautiful  did  I  find  her.  More  beautiful?  In- 
adequate word.  Inadequate  language !  But  is  it 
really  the  fault  of  the  language  or  of  those  who  abuse 
the  word? 

One  could  not  stand  before  her  without  recalling 
the  woman  for  whom  Ephractoeus  overcame  Atlas, 
of  her  for  whom  Sapor  usurped  the  scepter  of  Ozy- 
mandias,  for  whom  Mamylos  subjugated  Susa  and 
Tentyris,  for  whom  Antony  fled.   .  .  . 

O  tremblant  coeur  hmnain,  si  jamais  tii  vibras 
C'est  dans  I'etreinte  altiere  et  chatide  de  ses  bras. 


A  \  I'  I  \  r:  A  169 

An  Egyptian  klaft  fell  over  her  abundant  blue- 
black  curls.  Its  two  points  of  heavy,  gold-embroid- 
ered cloth  extended  to  her  slim  hips.  The  golden 
serpent,  emerald-eyed,  was  clasped  about  her  little 
round,  determined  forehead,  darting  its  double 
tongue  of  rubies  over  her  head. 

She  wore  a  tunic  of  black  chiffon  shot  with  gold, 
very  light,  very  full,  slightly  gathered  in  by 
a  white  muslin  scarf  embroidered  with  iris  in 
black  pearls. 

That  was  Antinea's  costume.  But  what  was  she 
beneath  all  this?  A  slim  young  girl,  with  long  green 
eyes  and  the  slender  profile  of  a  hawk.  A  more  in- 
tense Adonis.  A  child  queen  of  Sheba,  but  with  a 
look,  a  smile,  such  as  no  Oriental  ever  had.  A  mir- 
acle of  irony  and  freedom. 

I  did  not  see  her  body.  Indeed  I  should  not  have 
thought  of  looking  at  it,  had  I  had  the  strength. 
And  that,  perhaps,  was  the  most  extraordinary  thing 
about  that  first  impression.  In  that  unforgettable 
moment  nothing  would  have  seemed  to  me  more  hor- 
ribly sacrilegious  than  to  think  of  the  fifty  victims  in 
the  red  marble  hall,  of  the  fifty  young  men  who  had 
held  that  slender  body  in  their  arms. 

She  was  still  laughing  at  me. 

"King  Hiram,"  she  called. 

I  turned  and  saw  my  enemy. 

On  the  capital  of  one  of  the  columns,  twenty  feet 
above  the  floor,  a  splendid  leopard  was  crouched. 


170  ATLANTIDA 

He  still  looked  surly  from  the  blow  I  had  dealt 
him. 

"King  Hiram,"  Antinea  repeated.    "Come  here." 
The  beast  relaxed  like  a  spring  released.     He 
fawned  at  his  mistress's  feet.     I  saw  his  red  tongue 
licking  her  bare  little  ankles. 

"Ask  the  gentleman's  pardon,"  she  said. 
The  leopard  looked  at  me  spitefully.    The  yellow 
skin  of  his  muzzle  puckered  about  his  black  mous- 
tache. 

"Fftt,"  he  grumbled  like  a  great  cat. 
"Go,"  Antinea  ordered  imperiously. 
The  beast  crawled  reluctantly  toward  me.     He 
laid  his  head  humbly  between  his  paws  and  waited. 
I  stroked  his  beautiful  spotted  forehead. 
"You  must  not  be  vexed,"  said  Antinea.     "He  is 
always  that  way  with  strangers." 

"Then  he  must  often  be  in  bad  humor,"  I  said 
simply. 

Those  were  my  first  words.    They  brought  a  smile 
to  Antinea's  lips. 

She  gave  me  a  long,  quiet  look. 
"Aguida,"  she  said  to  one  of  the  Targa  women, 
"you  will  give  twenty-five  pounds  in  gold  to  Cegheir- 
ben-Cheikh." 

"You  are  a  lieutenant?"  she  asked,  after  a  pause. 

"Yes." 

"Where  do  you  come  from?" 

"From  France." 


ANTINEA  171 

**I  might  have  guessed  that,"  she  said  ironically, 
"but  from  what  part  of  Trance?" 

"From  what  wc  call  the  Lot-et-Garonne." 

"From  what  town?" 

"From  Duras." 

She  reflected  a  moment. 

"Duras!  There  Is  a  little  river  there,  the  Dropt, 
and  a  fine  old  chateau." 

"You  know  Duras?"  I  murmured,  amazed. 

"You  go  there  from  Bordeaux  by  a  little  branch 
railway,"  she  went  on.  "It  is  a  shut-in  road,  with 
vine-covered  hills  crowned  by  the  feudal  niins.  The 
villages  have  beautiful  names:  Monsegur,  Sauve- 
terre-de-Guyenne,  la  Tresne,  Creon,  .  .  .  Creon,  as 
in  Antigone." 

"You  have  been  there?'* 

She  looked  at  me. 

"Don't  speak  so  coldly,"  she  said.  "Sooner  or 
later  we  wall  be  intimate,  and  you  may  as  well  lay 
aside  formality  now." 

This  threatening  promise  suddenly  filled  me  with 
great  happiness.  I  thought  of  Le  Mesge's  words: 
"Don't  talk  until  you  have  seen  her.  When  you 
have  seen  her,  you  will  renounce  everything  for 
her." 

"Have  I  been  In  Duras?"  she  went  on  with  a 
burst  of  laughter.  "You  are  joking.  Imagine  Nep- 
tune's granddaughter  In  the  first-class  compartment 
of  a  local  train!" 


172  ATLANTIDA 

She  pointed  to  an  enormous  white  rock  which  tow- 
ered above  the  palm  trees  of  the  garden. 

"That  is  my  horizon,"  she  said  gravely. 

She  picked  up  one  of  several  books  which  lay 
scattered  about  her  on  the  lion's  skin. 

"The  time  table  of  the  Chemin  de  Fer  de  VOuest," 
she  said.  "Admirable  reading  for  one  who  never 
budges!  Here  it  is  half-past  five  in  the  afternoon. 
A  train,  a  local,  arrived  three  minutes  ago  at  Sur- 
geres  in  the  Charente-Inferleure.  It  will  start  on  in 
six  minutes.  In  two  hours  it  will  reach  La  Rochelle. 
How  strange  it  seems  to  think  of  such  things  here. 
So  far  away!  So  much  commotion  there!  Here, 
nothing  changes." 

"You  speak  French  well,"  I  said. 

She  gave  a  little  nervous  laugh. 

"I  have  to.  And  German,  too,  and  Italian,  and 
English  and  Spanish.  My  way  of  living  has  made 
me  a  great  polyglot.  But  I  prefer  French,  even 
to  Tuareg  and  Arabian.  It  seems  as  if  I  had 
always  known  it.  And  I  am  not  saying  that  to 
please  you." 

There  was  a  pause.  I  thought  of  her  grand- 
mother, of  whom  Plutarch  said:  "There  were  few 
races  with  which  she  needed  an  interpreter.  Cleo- 
patra spoke  their  own  language  to  the  Ethiopians, 
to  the  Troglodytes,  the  Hebrews,  the  Arabs,  the 
Medes  and  the  Persians." 

"Do  not  stand  rooted  in  the  middle  of  the  room. 


A  xN  TINE  A  173 

\'ou  worry  mc.  Come  sit  here,  beside  me.  Move 
over,  King  Hiram." 

The  leopard  obeyed  with  good  temper. 

Beside  her  was  an  onyx  bowl.  She  took  from  it 
a  perfectly  plain  ring  of  orichalch  and  slipped  it  on 
my  left  ring-finger.     I  saw  that  she  wore  one  like  it. 

"Tanit-Zerga,  give  Monsieur  de  Saint-Avit  a  rose 
sherbet." 

The  dark  girl  in  red  silk  obeyed. 

"My  private  secretary,"  said  Antinea,  introduc- 
ing her.  "Mademoiselle  Tanit-Zerga,  of  Gao, 
on  the  Niger.  Her  family  is  almost  as  ancient 
as  mine." 

As  she  spoke,  she  looked  at  me.  Her  green  eyes 
seemed  to  be  appraising  me. 

"And  your  comrade,  the  Captain?"  she  asked  in 
a  dreamy  tone.  "I  have  not  yet  seen  him.  What  is 
he  like?     Does  he  resemble  you?" 

For  the  first  time  since  I  had  entered,  I  thought 
of  Morhange.    I  did  not  answer.. 

Antinea  smiled. 

She  stretched  herself  out  full  length  on  the  lion 
skin.  Her  bare  right  knee  slipped  out  from  under 
her  tunic. 

"It  is  time  to  go  find  him,"  she  said  languidly. 
"You  will  soon  receive  my  orders.  Tanit-Zerga, 
show  him  the  way.  First  take  him  to  his  room.  He 
cannot  have  seen  it." 

I  rose  and  lifted  her  hand  to  my  lips.     She  struck 


174  ATLANTIDA 

me  with  it  so  sharply  as  to  make  my  lips  bleed,  as 
if  to  brand  me  as  her  possession.     ^ 

I  was  in  the  dark  corridor  again.  The  young  girl 
in  the  red  silk  tunic  walked  ahead  of  me. 

"Here  is  your  room,"  she  said.  "If  you  wish,  I 
will  take  you  to  the  dining-room.  The  others  are 
about  to  meet  there  for  dinner." 

She  spoke  an  adorable  lisping  French. 

"No,  Tanit-Zerga,  I  would  rather  stay  here  this 
evening.     I  am  not  hungry.     I  am  tired." 

"You  remember  my  name?"  she  said. 

She  seemed  proud  of  it.  I  felt  that  In  her  I  had 
an  ally  in  case  of  need. 

"I  remember  your  name,  Tanit-Zerga,  because  it 
Is  beautiful."^ 

Then  I  added: 

"Now,  leave  me,  little  one.    I  want  to  be  alone." 

It  seemed  as  if  she  would  never  go.  I  was 
touched,  but  at  the  same  time  vexed.  I  felt  a  great 
need  of  withdrawing  into  myself. 

"My  room  is  above  yours,"  she  said.  "There  Is 
a  copper  gong  on  the  table  here.  You  have  only  to 
strike  if  you  want  anything.  A  white  Targa  will 
answer." 

For  a  second,  these  instructions  amused  me.  I 
was  In  a  hotel  In  the  midst  of  the  Sahara.  I  had 
only  to  ring  for  service. 

iln  Berber,  Tanit  means  a  spring;  zerga  is  the  feminine  of 
the  adjective  azreg,  blue.     (Note  by  M.  Leroux.) 


ANTTXFA  175 

I  looked  about  my  room.  My  room!  For  how 
long? 

It  was  fairly  large.  Cushions,  a  couch,  an  alcove 
cut  into  the  rock,  all  lighted  by  a  great  window  cov- 
ered by  a  matting  shade. 

I  went  to  the  window  and  raised  the  shade.  The 
light  of  the  setting  sun  entered. 

I  leaned  my  elbows  on  the  rocky  sill.  Inexpres- 
sible emotion  filled  my  heart.  The  window  faced 
south.  It  Avas  about  two  hundred  feet  above  the 
ground.  The  black,  polished  volcanic  wall  yawned 
dizzily  below  me. 

In  front  of  me,  perhaps  a  mile  and  a  half  away, 
was  another  wall,  the  first  enclosure  mentioned  in 
the  Critias.  And  beyond  it  in  the  distance,  I  saw 
the  limitless  red  desert. 


CHAPTER  XII 

MORHANGE    DISAPPEARS 

My  fatigue  was  so  great  that  I  lay  as  If  un- 
conscious until  the  next  day.  I  awoke  about  three 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon. 

I  thought  at  once  of  the  events  of  the  previous 
day;  they  seemed  amazing. 

"Let  me  see,"  I  said  to  myself.  "Let  us  work 
this  out.     I  must  begin  by  consulting  Morhange." 

I  was  ravenously  hungry. 

The  gong  which  Tanit-Zerga  had  pointed  out  lay 
within  arm's  reach.  I  struck  it.  A  white  Targa 
appeared. 

"Show  me  the  way  to  the  library,"  I  ordered. 

He  obeyed.  As  we  wound  our  way  through  the 
labyrinth  of  stairs  and  corridors  I  realized  that  I 
could  never  have  found  my  way  without  his  help. 

Morhange  was  in  the  library,  intently  reading  a 
manuscript. 

"A  lost  treatise  of  Saint  Optat,"  he  said.  "Oh, 
if  only  Dom  Granger  were  here.  See,  it  is  written 
in  semi-uncial  characters." 

176 


MORHANGE     DISAPPEARS     177 

I  did  not  reply.  My  eyes  were  fixed  on  an  object 
which  lay  on  the  table  beside  the  manuscript.  It  was 
an  orichalch  ring,  exactly  like  that  which  Antinca 
had  given  me  the  previous  day  and  the  one  which  she 
herself  wore. 

Morhange  smiled. 

"Well?"  I  said. 

"Well?" 

"You  have  seen  her?" 

"I  have  indeed,"  Morhange  replied. 

"She  is  beautiful,  is  she  not?" 

"It  would  be  difficult  to  dispute  that,"  my  com- 
rade answered.  "I  even  believe  that  I  can  say  that 
she  is  as  intelligent  as  she  is  beautiful." 

There  was  a  pause.  Morhange  was  calmly  fin- 
gering the  orichalch  ring. 

"You  know  what  our  fate  is  to  be?" 

"I  know.  Le  Mesge  explained  it  to  us  yesterday 
in  polite  mythological  terms.  This  evidently  is  an 
extraordinary  adventure." 

He  was  silent,  then  said,  looking  at  me: 

"I  am  very  sorry  to  have  dragged  you  here.  The 
only  mitigating  feature  is  that  since  last  evening  you 
seem  to  have  been  bearing  your  lot  very  easily." 

Where  had  Morhange  learned  this  insight  into 
the  human  heart?  I  did  not  reply,  thus  giving  him 
the  best  of  proofs  that  he  had  judged  correctly. 

"What  do  you  think  of  doing?"  I  finally  mur- 
TTiured. 


178  ATLANTIDA 

He  rolled  up  the  manuscript,  leaned  back  com- 
fortably in  his  armchair  and  lit  a  cigar. 

"I  have  thought  it  over  carefully.  With  the  aid 
of  my  conscience  I  have  marked  out  a  line  of  con- 
duct. The  matter  is  clear  and  admits  no  dis- 
cussion. 

"The  question  is  not  quite  the  same  for  me  as  for 
you,  because  of  my  semi-religious  character,  which, 
I  admit,  has  set  out  on  a  rather  doubtful  adventure. 
To  be  sure,  I  have  not  taken  holy  orders,  but,  even 
aside  from  the  fact  that  the  ninth  commandment  it- 
self forbids  my  having  relations  with  a  woman  not 
my  wife,  I  admit  that  I  have  no  taste  for  the  kind 
of  forced  servitude  for  which  the  excellent  Cegheir- 
ben-Cheikh  has  so  kindly  recruited  us. 

"That  granted,  the  fact  remains  that  my  life  is 
not  my  own  with  the  right  to  dispose  of  it  as  might 
a  private  explorer  travelling  at  his  own  expenses  and 
for  his  own  ends.  I  have  a  mission  to  accomplish, 
results  to  obtain.  If  I  could  regain  my  liberty  by 
paying  the  singular  ransom  which  this  country  ex- 
acts, I  should  consent  to  give  satisfaction  to  Antinea 
according  to  my  ability.  I  know  the  tolerance  of 
the  Church,  and  especially  that  of  the  order  to  which 
I  aspire:  such  a  procedure  would  be  ratified  im- 
mediately and,  who  knows,  perhaps  even  approved? 
Saint  Mary  the  Egyptian,  gave  her  body  to  boat- 
men  under  similar  circumstances.  She  received  only 
glorification  for  it.     In  so  doing  she  had  the  cer- 


MORHANGE     DISAIMMAKS     179 

tainty  of  attaining  her  goal,  which  was  holy.  The 
end  justified  the  means. 

"But  my  case  is  quite  different.  If  I  give  in  to 
the  absurd  caprices  of  this  woman,  that  will  not  keep 
me  from  being  catalogued  down  in  the  red  mar- 
ble hall,  as  Number  54,  or  as  Number  55,  if 
she  prefers  to  take  you  first.  Under  those  con- 
ditions   ..." 

"Under  those  conditions?" 

"Under  those  conditions,  it  would  be  unpardonable 
for  me  to  acquiesce." 

"Then  what  do  you  intend  to  do?" 

"What  do  I  intend  to  do?"  Morhange  leaned 
back  in  the  armchair  and  smilingly  launched  a  puff 
of  smoke  toward  the  ceiling. 

"Nothing,"  he  said.  "And  that  is  all  that  is  neces- 
sary. Man  has  this  superiority  over  woman.  He 
is  so  constructed  that  he  can  refuse  advances." 

Then  he  added  with  an  ironical  smile: 

"A  man  cannot  be  forced  to  accept  unless  he 
wishes  to." 

T  nodded. 

"I  tried  the  most  subtle  reasoning  on  Antinea," 
he  continued.  "It  was  breath  wasted.  'But,'  I  said 
at  the  end  of  my  arguments,  'why  not  Le  Mesge?' 
She  began  to  laugh.  'Why  not  the  Reverend  Spar- 
dek?'  she  replied.  'Le  Mesge  and  Spardek  are  sa- 
vants whom  I  respect.    But 


i8o  ATLANTIDA 

Maudit  soil  a  jamais  le  reveur  inutile, 
Qui  voulut,  le  premier,  dans  sa  stupidite, 
S'eprenant  d'un  probleme  insoluble  et  sterile, 
Aux  choses  de  I' amour  meler  I'honnetete. 

"  'Besides,'  she  added  with  that  really  very  chami- 
ing  smile  of  hers,  'probably  you  have  not  looked 
carefully  at  either  of  them.'  There  followed  sev- 
eral compliments  on  my  figure,  to  which  I  found 
nothing  to  reply,  so  completely  had  she  disarmed  me 
by  those  four  lines  from  Baudelaire. 

"She  condescended  to  explain  further:  'Le  Mesge 
is  a  learned  gentleman  whom  I  find  useful.  He 
knows  Spanish  and  Italian,  keeps  my  papers  in  order, 
and  is  busy  working  out  my  genealogy.  The  Rev- 
erend Spardek  knows  English  and  German.  Count 
BieJowsky  is  thoroughly  conversant  with  the  Slavic 
languages.  Besides,  I  love  him  like  a  father.  He 
knew  me  as  a  child  when  I  had  not  dreamed  such 
stupid  things  as  you  know  of  me.  TThey  are  indis- 
pensable to  me  in  my  relations  with  visitors  of  dif- 
ferent races,  although  I  am  beginning  to  get  along 
well  enough  in  the  languages  which  I  need.  .  .  .  But 
I  am  talking  a  great  deal,  and  this  is  the  first  time 
that  I  have  ever  explained  my  conduct.  Your  friend 
is  not  so  curious.'  With  that,  she  dismissed  me.  A 
strange  woman  indeed.  1  think  there  is  a  bit  of 
Renan  in  her,  but  she  is  cleverer  than  that  master  of 
sensualism." 


M  O  R  IT  A  X  C;  F.     D  I  S  A  P  P  !•.  A  R  S     i  S  i 

"Gentlemen,"  said  I.c  Mesge,  suddenly  entering 
the  room,  "why  are  you  so  late?  I'hey  arc  waiting 
dinner  for  you." 

The  little  Professor  was  In  a  particularly  good 
humor  that  evening.     He  wore  a  new  violet  rosette. 

"Well?"  he  said,  in  a  mocking  tone,  "you  have 
seen  her?" 

Neither  Morhange  nor  I  replied. 

The  Reverend  Spardek  and  the  Hetman  of  Jito- 
mlr  already  had  begun  eating  when  we  arrived.  The 
setting  sun  threw  raspberry  lights  on  the  cream-col- 
ored mat. 

"Be  seated,  gentlemen,"  said  Le  Mesge  noisily. 
"Lieutenant  de  Saint-Avit,  you  were  not  with  us  last 
evening.  You  are  about  to  taste  the  cooking  of 
Koukou,  our  Bambara  chef,  for  the  first  time.  You 
must  give  me  your  opinion  of  it." 

A  negro  waiter  set  before  me  a  superb  fish  cov- 
ered with  a  pimento  sauce  as  red  as  tomatoes. 

I  have  explained  that  I  was  ravenously  hungry. 
The  dish  was  exquisite.  The  sauce  immediately 
made  me  thirsty. 

"White  Ahaggar,  1879,"  ^^^  Hetman  of  Jitomir 
breathed  in  my  ear  as  he  filled  my  goblet  with  a  clear 
topaz  liquid.  "I  developed  it  myself:  rit'n  pour  la 
tete,  tout  pour  les  jambes." 

I  emptied  the  goblet  at  a  gulp.  The  company  be- 
gan to  seem  charming. 

"Well,  Captain  Morhange,"  Le  Mesge  called  out 


i82  ATLANTIDA 

to  my  comrade  who  had  taken  a  mouthful  of  fish, 
"what  do  you  say  to  this  acanthopterygian?  It  was 
caught  to-day  in  the  lake  in  the  oasis.  Do  you  begin 
to  admit  the  hypothesis  of  the  Saharan  sea?" 

"The  fish  is  an  argument,"  my  companion  replied. 

Suddenly  he  became  silent.  The  door  had  opened. 
A  white  Targa  entered.  The  diners  stopped  talk- 
ing. 

The  veiled  man  walked  slowly  toward  Morhange 
and  touched  his  right  arm. 

"Very  well,"  said  Morhange. 

He  got  up  and  followed  the  messenger. 

The  pitcher  of  Ahaggar,  1879,  stood  between  me 
and  Count  Bielowsky.  I  filled  my  goblet — a  goblet 
which  held  a  pint,  and  gulped  it  down. 

The  Hetman  looked  at  me  sympathetically. 

"Ha,  ha!"  laughed  Le  Mesge,  nudging  me  with 
his  elbow.  "Antinea  has  respect  for  the  hierarchic 
order," 

The  Reverend  Spardek  smiled  modestly. 

"Ha,  ha !"  laughed  Le  Mesge  again. 

My  glass  was  empty.  For  a  moment  I  was 
tempted  to  hurl  it  at  the  head  of  the  Fellow  in  His- 
tory. But  what  of  it?  I  filled  it  and  emptied  it 
again. 

"Morhange  will  miss  this  delicious  roast  of  mut- 
ton," said  the  Professor,  more  and  more  hilarious, 
as  he  awarded  himself  a  thick  slice  of  meat. 

"He  won't  regret  it,"  said  the  Hetman  crossly. 


M  O  R  H  A  N  G  E     DISAPPEARS     183 

"This  is  not  roast;  it  is  ram's  horn.  Really  Koukou 
is  beginning  to  make  fun  of  us." 

"Blame  it  on  the  Reverend,"  the  shrill  voice  of 
Le  Mesge  cut  in.  "I  have  told  him  often  enough  to 
hunt  other  proselytes  and  leave  our  cook  alone." 

"Professor,"  Spardek  began  with  dignity. 

"I  maintain  my  contention,"  cried  Le  Mesge,  who 
seemed  to  me  to  be  getting  a  bit  overloaded.  "I 
call  the  gentleman  to  witness,"  he  went  on,  turning 
to  me.  "He  has  just  come.  He  is  unbiased. 
Therefore  I  ask  him:  has  one  the  right  to  spoil  a 
Bambara  cook  by  addling  his  head  with  theological 
discussions  for  which  he  has  no  predisposition?" 

"Alas!"  the  pastor  replied  sadly.  "You  are  mis- 
taken. He  has  only  too  strong  a  propensity  to  con- 
troversy." 

"Koukou  is  a  good-for-nothing  who  uses  Colas' 
cow  as  an  excuse  for  doing  nothing  and  letting  our 
scallops  burn,"  declared  the  Hetman.  "Long  live 
the  Pope!"  he  cried,  filling  the  glasses  all 
around. 

"I  assure  you  that  this  Bambara  worries  me," 
Spardek  went  on  with  great  dignity.  "Do  you  know 
what  he  has  come  to?  He  denies  transubstantlation. 
He  is  within  an  inch  of  the  heresy  of  Zwingll 
and  Oecolampades.  Koukou  denies  transubstan- 
tlation." 

"Sir,"  said  Le  Mesge,  very  much  excited,  "cooks 
should  be  left  in  peace.     Jesus,  whom  I  consider  as 


i84  ATLANTIDA 

good  a  theologian  as  you,  understood  that,  and  It 
never  occurred  to  him  to  call  Martha  away  from 
her  oven  to  talk  nonsense  to  her." 

"Exactly  so,"  said  the  Hetman  approvingly. 

He  was  holding  a  jar  between  his  knees  and  trying 
to  draw  its  cork. 

*'Oh,  Cotes  Roties,  wine  from  the  Cote-Rotie!" 
he  murmured  to  me  as  he  finally  succeeded.  "Touch 
glasses." 

"Koukou  denies  transubstantiation,"  the  pastor 
continued,  sadly  emptying  his  glass. 

"Eh !"  said  the  Hetman  of  Jitomir  in  my  ear,  "let 
them  talk  on.  Don't  you  see  that  they  are  quite 
drunk?" 

His  own  voice  was  thick.  He  had  the  greatest 
difficulty  in  the  world  in  filling  my  goblet  to  the 
brim. 

I  wanted  to  push  the  pitcher  away.  Then  an  idea 
came  to  me : 

"At  this  very  moment,  Morhange  .  .  .  What- 
ever he  may  say  .  .   .  She  is  so  beautiful." 

I  reached  out  for  the  glass  and  emptied  it  once 
more. 

Le  Mesge  and  the  pastor  were  now  engaged  in  the 
most  extraordinary  religious  controversy,  throwing 
at  each  other's  heads  the  Book  of  Common  Prayer, 
The  Declaration  of  the  Rights  of  Man,  and  the 
Unigenitus.  Little  by  little,  the  Hetman  began  to 
show  that  ascendancy  over  them,  which  is  the  char- 


M  O  R  TI  A  N  G  ]•      D  I  S  A  P  P  F.  A  R  S     i  S5 

acteristic  of  a  man  of  the  world  even  wlicn  he  \'^ 
thoroughly  drunk;  the  superiority  of  education  over 
insti*uction. 

Count  Bielowsky  had  drunk  five  times  as  much  as 
the  Professor  or  the  pastor.  But  he  carried  his 
wine  ten  times  better. 

"Let  us  leave  these  dnmken  fellows,"  he  said  with 
disgust.  "Come  on,  old  man.  Our  partners  are 
waiting  in  the  gaming  room." 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  said  the  Hetman  as  we 
entered.  "Permit  me  to  present  a  new  player  to 
you,  my  friend.  Lieutenant  de  Saint-Avit." 

"Let  it  go  at  that,"  he  murmured  in  my  ear. 
"They  are  the  servants.  But  I  like  to  fool  myself, 
you  see." 

I  saw  that  he  was  very  drunk  indeed. 

The  gaming  room  was  very  long  and  narrow.  A 
huge  table,  almost  level  with  the  floor  and  sur- 
rounded with  cushions  on  which  a  dozen  natives 
were  lying,  was  the  chief  article  of  furniture.  Two 
engravings  on  the  wall  gave  evidence  of  the  hap- 
piest broadmindedness  in  taste;  one  of  da  Vinci's 
St.  John  the  Baptist,  and  the  Ma'ison  des  Dernieres 
Cartouches  of  Alphonse  de  Neuville. 

On  the  table  were  earthenware  goblets.  A  heavy 
jar  held  palm  liqueur. 

I  recognized  acquaintances  among  those  present; 
my  masseur,  the  manicure,  the  barber,  and  two  or 


i86  ATLANTIDA 

three  Tuareg  who  had  lowered  their  veils  and  were 
gravely  smoking  long  pipes.  While  waiting  for 
something  better,  all  were  plunged  in  the  delights  of 
a  card  game  that  looked  like  "rams."  Two  of  An- 
tinea's  beautiful  ladies  in  waiting,  Aguida  and  Sydia, 
were  among  the  number.  Their  smooth  bistre  skins 
gleamed  beneath  veils  shot  with  silver.  I  was  sorry 
not  to  see  the  red  silk  tunic  of  Tanit-Zerga.  Again, 
I  thought  of  Morhange,  but  only  for  an  Instant. 

"The  chips,  Koukou,"  demanded  the  Hetman. 
"We  are  not  here  to  amuse  ourselves." 

The  Zwinglian  cook  placed  a  box  of  many-colored 
chips  in  front  of  him.  Count  Bielowsky  set  about 
counting  them  and  arranging  them  in  little  piles  with 
infinite  care. 

"The  white  are  worth  a  louis,"  he  explained  to 
me.  "The  red,  a  hundred  francs.  The  yellow,  five 
hundred.  The  green,  a  thousand.  Oh,  it's  the  devil 
of  a  game  that  we  play  here.     You  will  see." 

"I  open  with  ten  thousand,"  said  the  Zwinglian 
cook. 

"Twelve  thousand,"  said  the  Hetman. 

"Thirteen,"  said  Sydya  with  a  slow  smile,  as  she 
seated  herself  on  the  count's  knee  and  began  to  ar- 
range her  chips  lovingly  in  little  piles. 

"Fourteen,"  I  said. 

"Fifteen,"  said  the  sharp  voice  of  Rosita,  the  old 
manicure. 

"Seventeen,"  proclaimed  the  Hetman. 


M  O  R  1 1  A  N  G  E     DISAPPEARS     187 

''Twenty  thousand."  the  cook  broke  in. 

He  hammered  on  the  table  and,  casting  a  defiant 
look  at  us,  repeated: 

"I  take  it  at  twenty  thousand." 

The  Hetman  made  an  impatient  gesture. 

"That  devil,  Koukou !  You  can't  do  anything 
against  the  beast.  You  will  have  to  play  carefully. 
Lieutenant." 

Koukou  had  taken  his  place  at  the  end  of  the  table. 
He  threw  down  the  cards  with  an  air  v^hich  abashed 
me. 

"I  told  you  so;  the  way  it  was  at  Anna  Deslions'," 
the  Hetman  murmured  proudly. 

"Make  your  bets,  gentlemen,"  yelped  the  negro. 
"Make  your  bets." 

"Wait,  you  beast,"  called  Bielowsky.  "Don't  you 
see  that  the  glasses  are  empty?     Here,  Cacambo." 

The  goblets  were  filled  immediately  by  the  jolly 
masseur. 

"Cut,"  said  Koukou,  addressing  Sydya,  the  beau- 
tiful Targa  who  sat  at  his  right. 

The  girl  cut,  like  one  who  knows  superstitions, 
with  her  left  hand.  But  it  must  be  said  that  her 
right  was  busy  lifting  a  cup  to  her  lips.  I  watched 
the  curve  of  her  beautiful  throat. 

"My  deal,"  said  Koukou. 

We  were  thus  arranged:  at  the  left,  the  Hetman, 
Aguida,  whose  waist  he  had  encircled  with  the  most 
aristocratic  freedom,   Cacambo,   a   Tuareg  woman. 


i88  ATLANTIDA 

then  two  veiled  negroes  who  were  watching  the  game 
intently.  At  the  right,  Sydya,  myself,  the  old  mani- 
cure, Roslta,  Barouf,  the  barber,  another  woman 
and  two  white  Tuareg,  grave  and  attentive,  exactly 
opposite  those  on  the  left. 

"Give  me  one,"  said  the  Hetman. 

Sydya  made  a  negative  gesture. 

Koukou  drew,  passed  a  four-spot  to  the  Hetman, 
gave  himself  a  five. 

"Eight,"  announced  Bielowsky. 

"Six,"  said  pretty  Sydya. 

"Seven,"  broke  in  Koukou.  "One  card  makes  up 
for  another,"  he  added  coldly. 

"I  double,"  said  the  Hetman. 

Cacambo  and  Aguida  followed  his  example.  On 
our  side,  we  were  more  careful.  The  manicure  espe- 
cially would  not  risk  more  than  twenty  francs  at  a 
time. 

"I  demand  that  the  cards  be  evened  up,"  said 
Koukou  imperturbably. 

"This  fellow  is  unbearable,"  grumbled  the  count. 
"There,  are  you  satisfied?" 

Koukou  dealt  and  laid  down  a  nine. 

"My  country  and  my  honor!"  raged  Bielowsky. 
"I  had  an  eight." 

I  had  two  kings,  and  so  showed  no  ill  temper. 
Rosita  took  the  cards  out  of  my  hands. 

I  watched  Sydya  at  my  right.  Her  heavy  black 
hair  covered  her  shoulders.      She  was   really  very 


i\I  O  R  H  A  N  G  E     D  I  S  A  P  PEARS     1 89 

beautiful,  though  a  bit  tipsy,  as  were  all  that  fan- 
tastic company.  She  looked  at  me,  too,  but 
with  lowered  eyelids,  like  a  timid  little  wild 
animal. 

"Oh,"  I  thought.  "She  may  well  be  afraid.  I  am 
labelled  'Xo  trespassing.'  " 

I  touched  her  foot.  She  drew  it  back  in 
fright. 

"Who  wants  cards?"  Koukou  demanded. 

"Not  I,"  said  the  Hetman. 

"Served,"  said  Sydya. 

The  cook  drew^  a  four. 

"Nine,"  he  said. 

"That  card  was  meant  for  me,"  cursed  the  count. 
"And  five,  I  had  a  five.  If  only  1  had  never  prom- 
ised his  Majesty  the  Emperor  Napoleon  III  never 
to  cut  fives!  There  are  times  when  it  is  hard,  very 
hard.  And  look  at  that  beast  of  a  negro  who  plays 
Charlemagne." 

It  was  tnie.  Koukou  swept  in  three-quarters  of 
the  chips,  rose  with  dignity,  and  bowed  to  the  com- 
pany. 

"Till  to-morrow,  gentlemen." 

"Get  along,  the  whole  pack  of  you,"  howled  the 
Hetman  of  Jitomir.  "Stay  with  me.  Lieutenant  de 
Saint-Avit." 

When  we  were  alone,  he  poured  out  another  huge 
cupfull  of  liqueur.  The  ceiling  of  the  room  was  lost 
in  the  gray  smoke. 


I90  ATLANTIDA 

"What  time  is  it?"  I  asked. 

"After  midnight.  But  you  are  not  going  to  leave 
me  like  this,  my  dear  boy?     I  am  heavy-hearted." 

He  wept  bitterly.  The  tail  of  his  coat  spread  out 
on  the  divan  behind  him  like  the  apple-green  wings  of 
a  beetle. 

"Isn't  Aguida  a  beauty?"  he  went  on,  still  weep- 
ing. "She  makes  me  think  of  the  Countess  de  Te- 
ruel,  though  she  is  a  little  darker.  You  know  the 
Countess  de  Tereul,  Mercedes,  who  went  in  bath- 
ing nude  at  Biarritz,  in  front  of  the  rock  of  the 
Virgin,  one  day  when  Prince  Bismarck  was  standing 
on  the  foot-bridge.  You  do  not  remember  her? 
Mercedes  de  Teruel." 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders. 

"I  forget;  you  must  have  been  too  young.  Two, 
perhaps  three  years  old.  A  child.  Yes,  a  child. 
Oh,  my  child,  to  have  been  of  that  generation  and 
to  be  reduced  to  playing  cards  with  savages,  ...  I 
must  tell  you  ..." 

I  stood  up  and  pushed  him  off. 

"Stay,  stay,"  he  implored.  "I  will  tell  you  every- 
thing you  want  to  know,  how  I  came  here,  things  I 
have  never  told  anyone.  Stay,  I  must  unbosom  my- 
self to  a  true  friend.  I  will  tell  you  everything,  I 
repeat.  I  trust  you.  You  are  a  Frenchman,  a  gen- 
tleman.   I  know  that  you  will  repeat  nothing  to  her." 

"That  I  will  repeat  nothing  to  her?  .  ,  .  To 
whom?" 


MORHANGE     DISAPPEARS     191 

His  voice  stuck  in  his  throat.     I  thought  I  saw  a 
shudder  of  fear  pass  over  hini. 

"To  her  ...  to  Antinea,"  he  murmured. 
I  sat  down  again. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  HETMAN  OF  JITOMIR's  STORY 

Count  Casimir  had  reached  that  stage  where 
drunkenness  takes  on  a  kind  of  gravity,  of  regret- 
fulness. 

He  thought  a  little,  then  began  his  story.  I  re- 
gret that  I  cannot  reproduce  more  perfectly  its 
archaic  flavor. 

"When  the  grapes  begin  to  color  in  Antinea's 
garden,  I  shall  be  sixty-eight.  It  is  very  sad,  my  dear 
boy,  to  have  sowed  all  your  wild  oats.  It  isn't  true 
that  life  is  always  beginning  over  again.  How 
bitter,  to  have  known  the  Tuileries  in  i860, 
and  to  have  reached  the  point  where  I  am 
now! 

"One  evening,  just  before  the  war  (I  remember 
that  Victor  Black  was  still  living),  some  charming 
women  whose  names  I  need  not  disclose  (I  read  the 
names  of  their  sons  from  time  to  time  in  the  society 
news  of  the  Gaulois)  expressed  to  me  their  desire 
to  rub  elbows  with  some  real  demt-mondatnes  of  the 
artist  quarter.     I  took  them  to  a  ball  at  the  Grande 

192 


THE  HITMAN  OF  JITOMIR'S  STOKV      193 

Chauviierc.  There  was  a  crowd  of  young  painters, 
models,  students.  In  the  midst  of  the  uproar,  sev- 
eral couples  danced  the  cancan  till  the  chandeliers 
shook  with  it.  We  noticed  especially  a  little,  dark 
man,  dressed  In  a  miserable  top-coat  and  checked 
trousers  which  assuredly  knew  the  support  of  no 
suspenders.  He  was  cross-eyed,  with  a  wretched 
beard  and  hair  as  greasy  as  could  be.  He  bounded 
and  kicked  extravagantly.  The  ladies  called  him 
Leon  Gambetta. 

"What  an  annoyance,  when  T  realize  that  I  need 
only  have  felled  this  wretched  lawyer  with  one  pistol 
shot  to  have  guaranteed  perfect  happiness  to  myself 
and  to  my  adopted  country,  for,  my  dear  fellow,  I 
am  French  at  heart,  if  not  by  birth. 

"I  was  born  in  1829,  at  Warsaw,  of  a  Polish 
father  and  a  Russian  mother.  It  is  from  her  that  I 
hold  my  title  of  Iletman  of  Jitomir.  It  was  re- 
stored to  me  by  Czar  Alexander  II  on  a  request 
made  to  him  on  his  visit  to  Paris,  by  my  august  mas- 
ter, the  Emperor  Napoleon  TIT. 

"For  political  reasons,  which  I  cannot  describe 
without  retelling  the  history  of  unfortunate  Poland, 
my  father.  Count  Bielowsky,  left  Warsaw  in  1830, 
and  went  to  live  in  London.  After  the  death  of  my 
mother,  he  began  to  squander  his  immense  fortune 
— from  sorrow,  he  said.  When,  in  his  time,  he  died 
at  the  period  of  the  Prichard  affair,  he  left  me  barely 
a  thousand  pounds  sterling  of  income,  plus  two  or 


194  ATLANTIDA 

three    systems    of   gaming,    the    Impracticability   of 
which  I  learned  later. 

"I  will  never  be  able  to  think  of  my  nineteenth 
and  twentieth  years  without  emotion,  for  I  then  com- 
pletely liquidated  this  small  inheritance.  London 
was  indeed  an  adorable  spot  in  those  days.  I  had  a 
jolly  bachelor's  apartment  in  Piccadilly. 

"  Ticcadllly !    Shops,  palaces,  bustle  and  breeze, 
The  whirling  of  wheels  and  the  murmur  of  trees.' 

"Fox  hunting  in  a  hriska,  driving  a  buggy  in  Hyde 
Park,  the  rout,  not  to  mention  the  delightful  little 
parties  with  the  light  Venuses  of  Drury  Lane,  this 
took  all  my  time.  All?  I  am  unjust.  There  was 
also  gaming,  and  a  sentiment  of  filial  piety  forced 
me  to  verify  the  systems  of  the  late  Count,  my  father. 
It  was  gaming  which  was  the  cause  of  the  event  I 
must  describe  to  you,  by  which  my  life  was  to  be  so 
strangely  changed. 

**My  friend,  Lord  Malmesbury,  had  said  to  me  a 
hundred  times,  'I  must  take  you  to  see  an  exquisite 
creature  who  lives  in  Oxford  Street,  number  277, 
Miss  Howard.'  One  evening  I  went  with  him.  It 
was  the  twenty-second  of  February,  1848.  The  mis- 
tress of  the  house  was  really  marvelously  beautiful, 
and  the  guests  were  charming.  Besides  Malmes- 
bury, I  observed  several  acquaintances :  Lord  Cieb- 
den,    Lord    Chesterfield,    Sir    Francis    Mountjoye, 


THE  HITMAN  Oi    JUOMIR'S  STORY      i<>5 

Major  in  the  Second  Life  Guards,  and  Count 
d'Orsay.  They  played  cards  and  then  began  to 
talk  politics.  Events  in  France  played  the  main  part 
in  the  conversation  and  they  discussed  endlessly  the 
consequences  of  the  revolt  that  had  broken  out  in 
Paris  that  same  morning,  in  consequence  of  the  inter- 
diction of  the  banquet  in  the  12th  arrondissement, 
of  which  word  had  just  been  received  by  telegram. 
Up  to  that  time,  I  had  never  bothered  myself  with 
public  affairs.  So  I  don't  know  what  moved  me  to 
affirm  with  the  impetuosity  of  my  nineteen  years  that 
the  news  from  FVance  meant  the  Republic  next  day 
and  the  Empire  the  day  after.  .   .  . 

"The  company  received  my  sally  with  a  discreet 
laugh,  and  their  looks  were  centered  on  a  guest  who 
made  the  fifth  at  a  bouillotic  table  where  they  had 
just  stopped  playing. 

"The  guest  smiled,  too.  He  rose  and  came  to- 
wards me.  I  observed  that  he  was  of  middle  height, 
perhaps  even  shorter,  buttoned  tightly  into  a  blue 
frock  coat,  and  that  his  eye  had  a  far-off,  dreamy 
look. 

"All  the  players  watched  this  scene  with  delighted 
amusement. 

"  'Whom  have  I  the  honor  of  addressing?'  he 
asked  in  a  very  gentle  voice. 

"  'Count  Bielowsky,'  I  answered  coolly  to  show 
him  that  the  difference  in  our  ages  was  not  sufficient 
to  justify  the  interrogation. 


196  ATLANTIDA 

"  'Well,  my  dear  Count,  may  your  prediction  in- 
deed be  realized;  and  I  hope  that  you  will  not 
neglect  the  Tuileries,'  said  the  guest  in  the  blue  coat, 
with  a  smile. 

"And  he  added,  finally  consenting  to  present  him- 
self: 

"  'Prince  Louis-Napoleon  Bonaparte.' 

"I  played  no  active  role  in  the  coup  d'etat,  and  I 
do  not  regret  it.  It  is  a  principle  with  me  that  a 
stranger  should  not  meddle  with  the  internal  affairs 
of  a  country.  The  prince  understood  this  discretion, 
and  did  not  forget  the  young  man  who  had  been  of 
such  good  omen  to  him. 

"I  was  one  of  the  first  whom  he  called  to  the 
Elysee.  My  fortune  was  definitely  established  by  a 
defamatory  note  on  'Napoleon  the  little.'  The  next 
year,  when  Mgr.  Sibour  was  out  of  the  way,  I  was 
made  Gentleman  of  the  Chamber,  and  the  Emperor 
was  even  so  kind  as  to  have  me  marry  the  daughter 
of  the  Marshal  Repeto,  Duke  of  Mondovi. 

"I  have  no  scruple  in  announcing  that  this  union 
was  not  what  it  should  have  been.  The  Countess, 
who  was  ten  years  older  than  I,  was  crabbed  and 
not  particularly  pretty.  Moreover,  her  family  had 
insisted  resolutely  on  a  marriage  portion.  Now  I 
had  nothing  at  this  time  except  the  twenty-five  thou- 
sand pounds  for  my  appointment  as  Gentleman  of  the 
Chamber.     A  sad  lot  for  anyone  on  intimate  terms 


THE  HITMAN  OF  JITOMIR'S  STORY     197 

witli  the  Count  d'Orsay  and  the  Duke  of  Gramont- 
Caderousse  1  Without  the  kindness  of  the  Emperor, 
where  would  I  have  been? 

"One  morning  in  the  spring  of  1852,  I  was  in 
my  study  opening  my  mail.  There  was  a  letter  from 
His  Majesty,  calling  me  to  the  Tuileries  at  four 
o'clock;  a  letter  from  Clementine,  informing  me  that 
she  expected  me  at  five  o'clock  at  her  house.  Clem- 
entine was  the  beautiful  one  for  whom,  just  then, 
I  was  ready  to  commit  any  folly.  I  was  so  proud 
of  her  that,  one  evening  at  the  Maison  Dorce,  I 
flaunted  her  before  Prince  Metternich,  who  was 
tremendously  taken  with  her.  All  the  court  envied 
me  that  conquest;  and  I  was  morally  obliged  to  con- 
tinue to  assume  its  expenses.  And  then  Clementine 
was  so  pretty!  The  Emperor  himself  .  .  .  The 
other  letters,  good  lord,  the  other  letters  were  the 
bills  of  the  dressmakers  of  that  young  person,  who, 
in  spite  of  my  discreet  remonstrances,  insisted  on 
having  them  sent  to  my  conjugal  dwelling. 

"There  were  bills  for  something  over  forty  thou- 
sand francs:  gowns  and  ball  dresses  from  Gagelin- 
Opigez,  23  Rue  de  Richelieu;  hats  and  bonnets  from 
Madame  Alexandrine,  14  Rue  d'Antin;  lingerie  and 
many  petticoats  from  Madame  Pauline,  100  Rue 
de  Clery;  dress  trimmings  and  gloves  from  the  Fille 
de  Lyon,  6  Rue  de  la  Chaussee  d'Antin;  foulards 
from  the  Malle  des  Indes;  handkerchiefs  from  the 


198  ATLANTIDA 

Compagnie  Irlanda'ise;  laces  from  Ferguson;  cos- 
metics from  Candes.  .  .  .  This  whitening  cream  of 
Candes,  in  particular,  overwhelmed  me  with  stupe- 
faction. The  bill  showed  fifty-one  flasks.  Six  hun- 
dred and  twenty-seven  francs  and  fifty  centimes' 
worth  of  whitening  cream  from  Candes.  .  .  . 
Enough  to  soften  the  skin  of  a  squadron  of  a  hun- 
dred guards ! 

"  'This  can't  keep  on,'  I  said,  putting  the  bills  in 
my  pocket. 

"At  ten  minutes  to  four,  T  crossed  the  wicket  by 
the  Carrousel. 

"In  the  Salon  of  the  aides  de  camp  I  happened  on 
Bacciochi. 

"  The  Emperor  has  the  grippe,'  he  said  to  me. 
*He  is  keeping  to  his  room.  He  has  given  orders 
to  have  you  admitted  as  soon  as  you  arrive. 
Come.' 

"His  Majesty,  dressed  in  a  braided  vest  and  Cos- 
sack trousers,  was  meditating  before  a  window.  The 
pale  green  of  the  Tuileries  showed  luminously  under 
a  gentle  warm  shower. 

"  'Ah !  Here  he  is,'  said  Napoleon.  'Here,  have 
a  cigarette.  It  seems  that  you  had  great  doings, 
you  and  Gramont-Caderousse,  last  evening,  at  the 
Chateau  des  Fleiirs.' 

"I  smiled  with  satisfaction. 

"  'So  Your  Majesty  knows  already  .   .   .* 

"  'I  know,  I  know  vaguely.' 


THE  HITMAN  OF  JITOMIR'S  STORY      199 

"  'Do  you  know  Grainont-Caderousse's  last 
"mot"?' 

'No,  but  you  are  going  to  tell  it  to  inc.' 
'Here  goes,  then.     We  were  five  or  six:  myself, 
Viel-Castel,  Gramont,  Persigny  .   .   .' 

"  'Persigny!'  said  the  Emperor,  'He  has  no  right 
to  associate  with  Gramont,  after  all  that  Paris  says 
about  his  wife.' 

"  'Just  so,  Sire.  Well,  Persigny  was  excited,  no 
doubt  about  it.  He  began  telling  us  how  troubled 
he  was  because  of  the  Duchess's  conduct.' 

"  'This  Fialin  isn't  over  tactful,'  murmured  the 
Emperor, 

"  'Just  so,  Sire.  Then,  does  Your  Majesty  know 
what  Gramont  hurled  at  him?' 

"'What?' 

"  'He  said  to  him,  "Monsieur  le  Due,  1  forbid  you 
to  speak  ill  of  my  mistress  before  me." 

"  'Gramont  goes  too  far,'  said  Napoleon  with  a 
dreamy  smile. 

"  'That  is  what  we  all  thought,  including  Viel- 
Castel,  who  was  nevertheless  delighted.' 

"  'Apropos  of  this,'  said  Napoleon  after  a  silence, 
'I  have  forgotten  to  ask  you  for  news  of  the  Countess 
Bielowsky.' 

"  'She  is  very  well,  Sire,  I  thank  Y'our  Ma- 
jesty.' 

'And  Clementine?     Still  the  same  dear  child?' 
'Always,  Sire.     But  .   .   .' 


200  ATLANTIDA 

"  'It  seems  that  M.  Baroche  is  madly  in  love  with 
her.' 

"  'I  am  very  much  honored,  Sire.  But  this  honor 
becomes  too  burdensome.' 

"I  had  drawn  from  my  pocket  that  morning's  bills 
and  I  spread  them  out  under  the  eyes  of  the  Em- 
peror. 

"He  looked  at  them  with  his  distant  smile. 

"  'Come,  come.  If  that  is  all,  I  can  fix  that,  since 
I  have  a  favor  to  ask  of  you.' 

"  *I  am  entirely  at  Your  Majesty's  service.' 

"He  struck  a  gong. 

"  'Send  for  M.  Mocquard.' 

"  *I  have  the  grippe,'  he  said.  'Mocquard  will  ex- 
plain the  affair  to  you.' 

"The  Emperor's  private  secretary  entered. 

"  'Here  is  Bielowsky,  Mocquard,'  said  Napoleon. 
'You  know  what  I  want  him  to  do.  Explain  it  to 
him.' 

"And  he  began  to  tap  on  the  window-panes  against 
which  the  rain  was  beating  furiously. 

"  'My  dear  Count,'  said  Mocquard,  taking  a  chair, 
'it  is  very  simple.  You  have  doubtless  heard  of  a 
young  explorer  of  promise,  M.  Henry  Duveyrier.' 

"I  shook  my  head  as  a  sign  of  negation,  very  much 
surprised  at  this  beginning. 

"  'M.  Duveyrier,'  continued  Mocquard,  'has  re- 
turned to  Paris  after  a  particularly  daring  trip  to 
South  Africa  and  the  Sahara.     M.  Vivien  de  Saint 


THE  HliMAN  OV  JIIOMIR'S  STORY     201 

Martin,  whom  I  ha\c  seen  recently  has  assured  nie 
that  the  Geographical  Society  intends  to  confer  its 
great  gold  medal  upon  him,  in  recognition  of  these 
exploits.  In  the  course  of  his  trip,  M.  Duvreyrier 
has  entered  into  negotiations  with  the  chiefs  of  the 
people  who  always  have  been  so  rebellious  to  His 
Majesty's  armies,  the  Tuareg.' 

"I  looked  at  the  Emperor.  My  bewilderment  was 
such  that  he  began  to  laugh. 

"  'Listen,'  he  said. 

"  'M.  Duveyrier,'  continued  Mocquard,  'was  able 
to  arrange  to  have  a  delegation  of  these  chiefs  come 
to  Paris  to  present  their  respects  to  His  Majesty. 
Very  important  results  may  arise  from  this  visit,  and 
His  Excellency  the  Colonial  Minister,  does  not  de- 
spair of  obtaining  the  signature  of  a  treaty  of  com- 
merce, reserving  special  advantages  to  our  fellow 
countrymen.  These  chiefs,  five  of  them,  among  them 
Sheik  Otham,  Amenokol  or  Sultan  of  the  Confedera- 
tion of  Adzger,  arrive  to-morrow  morning  at  the 
Gare  de  Lyon.  M.  Duveyrier  will  meet  them.  But 
the  Emperor  has  thought  that  besides   .   .   .' 

"  'I  thought,'  said  Napoleon  III,  delighted  by  my 
bewilderment,  'I  thought  that  it  was  correct  to  have 
some  one  of  the  Gentlemen  of  my  Chamber  wait 
upon  the  arrival  of  these  Mussulman  dignitaries. 
That  is  why  you  are  here,  my  poor  Bielowsky. 
Don't  be  frightened,'  he  added,  laughing  harder. 
'You  will  have  M.  Duveyrier  with  you.     You   are 


202  ATLANTIDA 

charged  only  with  the  special  part  of  the  reception: 
to  accompany  these  princes  to  the  lunch  that  I  am 
giving  them  to-morrow  at  the  Tuileries;  then,  in  the 
evening,  discreetly  on  account  of  their  religious 
scruples,  to  succeed  in  giving  them  a  very  high  idea 
of  Parisian  civilization,  with  nothing  exaggerated: 
do  not  forget  that  in  the  Sahara  they  are  very  high 
religious  dignitaries.  In  that  respect,  I  have  con- 
fidence in  your  tact  and  give  you  carte  blanche.  .  .  . 
Mocquard!' 

"'Sire?' 

"  'You  will  apportion  on  the  budget,  half  to  For- 
eign Affairs,  half  to  the  Colonies,  the  funds  Count 
Bielowsky  will  need  for  the  reception  of  the  Tuareg 
delegation.  It  seems  to  me  that  a  hundred  thousand 
francs,  to  begin  .  .  .  The  Count  has  only  to  tell 
you  if  he  is  forced  to  exceed  that  figure.' 

"Clementine  lived  on  the  Rue  Boccador,  In  a  little 
Moorish  pavillion  that  I  had  bought  for  her  from 
M.  de  Lesseps.  I  found  her  in  bed.  When  she 
saw  me,  she  burst  into  tears. 

"  'Great  fools  that  we  are!'  she  murmured  amidst 
her  sobs,  'what  have  we  done !' 

"  'Clementine,  tell  me!' 

"  'What  have  we  done,  what  have  we  done!'  she 
repeated,  and  I  felt  against  me,  her  floods  of  black 
hair,  her  warm  cheek  which  was  fragrant  with  eau 
de  Nation. 


THE  HITMAN  OF  JITOMIR'S  STORY     203 

"  'What  is  it?     What  can  it  be?' 

"  'It  is  .  .  .'  and  she  murmured  something  in  my 
car. 

"'No!'  I  said,  stupefied.     'Are  you  quite  sure?' 

"  'Am  I  quite  sure!' 

"I  was  thunderstruck. 

"  'You  don't  seem  much  pleased,'  she  said  sharply. 

"  'I  did  not  say  that.  .  .  .  Though,  really,  I  am 
very  much  pleased,  I  assure  you.' 

"  Prove  it  to  me :  let  us  spend  the  day  together 
to-morrow.' 

"'To-morrow!'  I  stammered.     'Impossible!' 

"  'Why?'  she  demanded  suspiciously. 

"  'Because  to-morrow,  I  have  to  pilot  the  Tuareg 
mission  about  Paris.     The  Emperor's  orders.' 

"'What  bluff  is  this?'  asked  Clementine. 

"  'I  admit  that  nothing  so  much  resembles  a  lie  as 
the  truth.' 

"I  retold  Mocquard's  story  to  Clementine,  as  well 
as  I  could.  She  listened  to  me  with  an  expression 
that  said:  'you  can't  fool  me  that  way.* 

"Finally,  furious,  I  burst  out: 

"  'You  can  see  for  yourself.  I  am  dining  with 
them,  to-morrow;  and  I  invite  you.' 

"  'I  shall  be  very  pleased  to  come,'  said  Clemen- 
tine with  great  dignity. 

"I  admit  that  I  lacked  self-control  at  that  minute. 
But  think  what  a  day  it  had  been!  Forty  thousand 
fmncs  o^  bills  as  soon  as  I  woke  up.    The  ordeal  of 


204  ATLANTIDA 

escorting  the  savages  around  Paris  all  the  next  day. 
And,  quite  unexpectedly,  the  announcement  of  an 
approaching  irregular  paternity.  .   .  .  ' 

"  'After  all,'  I  thought,  as  I  returned  to  my  house, 
'these  are  the  Emperor's  orders.  He  has  com- 
manded me  to  give  the  Tuareg  an  Idea  of  Parisian 
civilization.  Clementine  comports  herself  very  well 
in  society  and  just  now  it  would  not  do  to  aggravate 
her.  I  will  engage  a  room  for  to-morrow  at  the 
Cafe  de  Paris,  and  tell  Gramont-Caderousse  and 
VIel-Castel  to  bring  their  silly  mistresses.  It  will 
be  very  French  to  enjoy  the  attitude  of  these  chil- 
dren of  the  desert  In  the  midst  of  this  little  party.' 

"The  train  from  Marseilles  arrived  at  10:20. 
On  the  platform  I  found  M.  Duveyrler,  a  young  man 
of  twenty-three  with  blue  eyes  and  a  little  blond 
beard.  The  Tuareg  fell  into  his  arms  as  they  de- 
scended from  the  train.  He  had  lived  with  them  for 
two  years,  in  their  tents,  the  devil  knows  where.  He 
presented  me  to  their  chief.  Sheik  Otham,  and  to 
four  others,  splendid  fellows  In  their  blue  cotton 
draperies  and  their  amulets  of  red  leather.  For- 
tunately, they  all  spoke  a  kind  of  sabir  *  which  helped 
things  along. 

"I  only  mention  in  passing  the  lunch  at  the  Tuil- 
erles,  the  visits  in  the  evening  to  the  Museum,  to  the 
Hotel  de  Fille,  to  the  Imperial  Printing  Press.    Each 

^  Dialect   spoken    in   Algeria   and   the   Levant — a    mixture   of 
Arabian,  French,  Italian  and  Spanish. 


THE  HITMAN  OF  JITCJMIK'S  STORY     205 

time,  the  Tuareg  inscribed  their  names  in  the  regis- 
try of  the  place  they  were  visiting.  It  was  intermin- 
able. To  give  you  an  idea,  here  is  the  complete 
name  of  Sheik  Otham  alone:  Otham-ben-el-Hadj-el- 
Bekrl-ben-el-Hadj-el-Faqqi-ben-Mohammad  -  Bouya- 
ben-si-Ahmed-es-Souki-bcn-Mahmoud.* 

"And  there  were  five  of  them  like  that! 

"I  maintained  my  good  humor,  however,  because 
on  the  boulevards,  everywhere,  our  success  was  co- 
lossal. At  the  Cafi'  de  Paris,  at  six-thirty,  it 
amounted  to  frenzy.  The  delegation,  a  little  drunk, 
embraced  me:  'Bono,  Napoleon;  bono,  Eugenic; 
bono,  Casimir;  bono,  Christians.'  Gramont-Cade- 
rousse  and  Viel  Castel  were  already  in  booth  num- 
ber eight,  with  Anna  Grimaldi,  of  the  Folies  Dra- 
matiques,  and  Hortense  Schneider,  both  beautiful 
enough  to  strike  terror  to  the  heart.  But  the  palm 
was  for  my  dear  Clementine,  when  she  entered.  I 
must  tell  you  how  she  was  dressed:  a  gown  of  white 
tulle,  over  China  blue  tarletan,  with  pleatings,  and 
ruffles  of  tulle  over  the  pleatings.  The  tulle  skirt 
was  caught  up  on  each  side  by  garlands  of  green 
leaves  mingled  with  rose  clusters.  Thus  it  formed 
a  valence  which  allowed  the  tarletan  skirt  to  show 
in  front  and  on  the  sides.    The  garlands  were  caught 

1 1  have  succeeded  in  finding  on  the  registrj'  of  the  Imperial 
Printing  Press  the  names  of  the  Tuareg  chiefs  and  those  who 
accompanied  them  on  their  visit,  M.  Henrj'  Duveyricr  and  the 
Count  Biclowsky.     ( Xotc  by  M.  Leroux.) 


2o6  A  T  L  A  N  T  I  D  A 

up  to  the  belt  and,  in  the  space  between  their 
branches,  were  knots  of  rose  satin  with  long  cnd3. 
The  pointed  bodice  was  draped  with  tulle,  the  bil- 
lowy bertha  of  tulle  was  edged  with  lace.  By  way 
of  head-dress,  she  had  placed  upon  her  black  locks 
a  diadem  crown  of  the  same  flowers.  Two  long 
leafy  tendrils  were  twined  in  her  hair  and  fell  on  her 
neck.  As  cloak,  she  had  a  kind  of  scarf  of  blue 
cashmere  embroidered  in  gold  and  lined  with  blue 
satin. 

"So  much  beauty  and  splendor  immediately  moved 
the  Tuareg  and,  especially,  Clementine's  right-hand 
neighbor,  El-Hadj-ben-Guemama,  brother  of  Sheik 
Otham  and  Sultan  of  Ahaggar.      By  the  time  the 
soup  arrived,  a  bouillon  of  wild  game,  seasoned  with 
Tokay,  he  was  already  much  smitten.     When  they 
served  the  compote  of  fruits  Martinique  a  la  liqueur 
de  Mme.  Amphoux,  he  showed  every  indication  of 
illimitable  passion.     The  Cyprian  wine  de  la  Com- 
manderie  made  him   quite   sure   of  his   sentiments. 
Hortense  kicked  my  foot  under  the  table.    Gramont, 
intending  to  do  the  same  to  Anna,  made  a  mistake 
and  aroused  the  indignant  protests  of  one  of  the 
Tuareg.     I  can  safely  say  that  when  the  time  came 
to  go  to  Mabnie,  we  were  enlightened  as  to  the  man- 
ner in  which  our  visitors  respected  the  prohibition 
decreed  by  the  Prophet  in  respect  to  wine. 

"At  Mabille,  while  Clementine,  Hortense,  Anna, 
Ludovic  and  the  three  Tuareg  gave  themselves  over 


THE  HITMAN  OF  JITOMIR'S  STORY     207 

to  the  wildest  gallops,  Sheik  Otham  took  me  a^idc 
and  confided  to  me,  with  visible  emotion,  a  certain 
commission  with  which  he  had  just  been  charged 
by  his  brother.  Sheik  Ahmed. 

"The  next  day,  very  early,  I  reached  Clementine's 
house. 

"  'My  dear,'  I  began,  after  having  waked  her,  not 
without  difficulty,  'listen  to  me.  I  want  to  talk  to 
you  seriously.' 

"She  rubbed  her  eyes  a  bit  crossly. 

"  'How  did  you  like  that  young  Arabian  gentle- 
man who  was  so  taken  with  you  last  night?' 

"  'Why,  well  enough,'  she  said,  blusfilng. 

"  'Do  you  know  that  in  his  country,  he  is  the  sov- 
ereign prince  and  reigns  over  territories  five  or  six 
times  greater  than  those  of  our  august  master,  the 
Emperor  Napoleon  III?' 

"  'He  murmured  something  of  that  kind  to  me,' 
she  said,  becoming  interested. 

"  'Well,  would  it  plea.e  you  to  mount  on  a  throne, 
like  our  august  sovereign,   the  Empress  Eugenie?' 

"Clementine  looked  startled. 

"  'His  own  brother.  Sheik  Otham,  has  charged 
me  in  his  name  to  make  this  offer.' 

"Clementine,  dumb  with  amazement,  dia  not  re- 

plT- 

"'I,  Empress!'  she  finally  stammered. 

"  'The  decision  rests  with  you.     They  must  have 


2o8  A  T  L  A  N  T  I  D  A 

your  answer  before  midday.  If  it  is  'yes,'  we  lunch 
together  at  Voisin's,  and  the  bargain  is  made.' 

"I  saw  that  she  had  already  made  up  her  mind, 
but  she  thought  it  well  to  display  a  little  sentiment. 

"  'And  you,  you !'  she  groaned.  "To  leave  you 
thus.  .  .  .  Never!' 

'*  'No  foolishness,  dear  child,'  I  said  gently.  'You 
don't  know  perhaps  that  I  am  ruined.  Yes,  com- 
pletely: I  don't  even  know  how  I  am  going  to  pay 
for  your  complexion  cream !' 

"  'Ah !'  she  sighed 

"She  added,  however,  'And  .   .   .   the  child?' 

'"What  child?' 

'"Our  child  .   .   .  our  child.' 

"  'Ah !  That  is  so.  Why,  you  will  nave  to  put  it 
down  to  profit  and  loss.  I  am  even  convinced  that 
Sheik  Ahmed  will  find  that  it  resembles  him.' 

"  'You  can  turn  everything  into  a  joke,'  she  said 
between  laughing  and  crying. 

"The  next  morning,  at  the  same  hour,  the  Mar- 
seilles express  carried  away  the  five  Tuareg  and 
Clementine.  The  young  woman,  radiant,  was  lean- 
ing on  the  arm  of  Sheik  Ahmed,  who  was  beside 
himself  with  joy. 

"'Have  you  many  shops  in  your  capital?'  she 
asked  him  languidly. 

"And  he,  smiling  broadly  under  his  veil,  replied: 

"  'Besef,  besef,  bono,  roumis,  bono' 


THE  HITMAN  OF  JITOMIR'S  STORY     209 

"At  the  last  moment,  Clementine  had  a  pang  of 
emotion. 

*'  'Listen,  Casimir,  you  have  always  been  kind  to 
me.  I  am  going  to  be  a  queen.  If  you  weary  of  it 
here,  promise  me,  swear  to  me   .    .    .' 

"The  Sheik  had  understood.  He  took  a  ring  from 
his  finger  and  slipped  it  onto  mine. 

"  'Sidi  Casimir,  comrade,'  he  affirmed.  'You  come 
— find  us.  Take  Sidi  Ahmed's  ring  and  show  it. 
Everybody  at  Ahaggar  comrades.  liono  Ahaggar, 
bono.' 

"When  I  came  out  of  the  Garc  dr  Lyon,  I  had  the 
feeling  of  having  perpetrated  an  excellent  joke." 

The  Hetman  of  Jitomir  was  completely  drunk.  I 
had  had  the  utmost  difficulty  in  understanding  the 
end  of  his  story,  because  he  interjected,  every  other 
moment,  couplets  from  Jacques  Offenbach's  best 
score. 

Dans  un  boh  passait  un  jeune  homme, 
Un  jeune  homme  frais  et  beau, 
Sa  main  tenait  une  pomme, 
Votis  voyez  d'ici  le  tableau. 

"Who  was  disagreeably  surprised  by  the  fall  of 
Sedan?  It  was  Casimir,  poor  old  Casimir!  Five 
thousand  louis  to  pay  by  the  fifth  of  September,  and 
not  the  first  sou,  no,  not  the  first  sou.    I  take  my  hat 


2IO  ATLANTIDA 

and  my  courage  and  go  to  the  Tuilerles.  No  more 
Emperor  there,  no !  But  the  Empress  was  so  kind. 
I  found  her  alone — ah,  people  scatter  quickly  under 
such  circumstances! — alone  with  a  senator,  M. 
Merimee,  the  only  literary  man  I  have  ever  known 
who  was  at  the  same  time  a  man  of  the  world. 
'Madame,'  he  was  saying  to  her,  'you  must  give  up 
all  hope.  M.  Thiers,  whom  I  just  met  on  the  Pont 
Royal,  would  listen  to  nothing.' 

"  'Madame,'  I  said  in  my  turn,  'Your  Majesty  al- 
ways will  know  where  her  true  friends  are.' 

"And  I  kissed  her  hand. 

"Evohe,  que  les  deesses 
Ont  de  droles  de  f aeons 
Pour  enjoler,  pour  enjSler,  pour  enjoler  les  gaaar- 
Qons! 

"I  returned  to  my  home  in  the  Rue  de  Lille.  On 
the  way  I  encountered  the  rabble  going  from  the 
Corps  Legislatif  to  the  Hotel  de  Ville.  My  mind 
was  made  up. 

"  'Madame,'  I  said  to  my  wife,  'my  pistols.' 

'"What  is  the  matter?'  she  asked,  fright- 
ened. 

"  'All  is  lost.  But  there  is  still  a  chance  to  pre- 
serve my  honor.  I  am  going  to  be  killed  on  the  bar- 
ricades.' 

"'Ah!      Casimir,'   she   sobbed,    falling  into  my 


me 


THE  HITMAN  OF  JITOMIR'S  STORY     211 

arms.      'I  have  misjudged  you.     Will  you   forgive 
?' 

I  forgive  you,  Aurelle,'  I  said  with  dignified 
emotion.     'I  have  not  always  been  right  myself.' 

"I  tore  myself  away  from  this  mad  scene.  It  was 
six  o'clock.  On  the  Rue  de  Bac,  I  hailed  a  cab  on  Its 
mad  career. 

"  'Twenty  francs  tip,'  I  said  to  the  coachman,  'if 
you  get  to  the  Gare  de  Lyon  in  time  for  the  Mar- 
seilles train,  six  thirty-seven.'  " 

The  Hetman  of  Jitomir  could  say  no  more.  He 
had  rolled  over  on  the  cushions  and  slept  with 
clenched  fists. 

I  walked  unsteadily  to  the  great  window. 

The  sun  was  rising,  pale  yellow,  behind  the  sharp 
blue  mountains. 


CHAPTER  XIV 


HOURS    OF    WAITING 


It  was  at  night  that  Saint-Avit  liked  to  tell  me  a 
little  of  his  enthralling  history.  He  gave  it  to  me  in 
short  instalments,  exact  and  chronological,  never  an- 
ticipating the  episodes  of  a  drama  whose  tragic  out- 
come I  knew  already.  Not  that  he  wished  to  obtain 
more  effect  that  way — I  felt  that  he  was  far  re- 
moved from  any  calculation  of  that  sort!  Simply 
from  the  extraordinary  nervousness  into  which  he 
was  thrown  by  recalling  such  memories. 

One  evening,  the  mail  from  France  had  just  ar- 
rived. The  letters  that  Chatelain  had  handed 
us  lay  upon  the  little  table,  not  yet  opened.  By  the 
light  of  the  lamp,  a  pale  halo  in  the  midst  of  the 
great  black  desert,  we  were  able  to  recognize  the 
writing  of  the  addresses.  Oh!  the  victorious  smile 
of  Saint-Avit  when,  pushing  aside  all  those  letters,  I 
said  to  him  in  a  trembling  voice: 

"Go  on." 

He  acquiesced  without  further  words. 

"Nothing  can  give  you  any  idea  of  the  fever  I 

212 


HOURS     OF     WAllJNl,        213 

was  in  from  the  day  when  the  Ilctman  of  Jitomir 
told  me  of  his  ad\cnturcs  to  the  day  when  I  found 
myself  In  the  presence  of  Antlnea.  The  strangest 
part  was  that  the  thought  that  I  was,  in  a  way,  con- 
demned to  death,  did  not  enter  Into  this  fever.  On 
the  contrar}',  it  was  stimulated  by  my  desire  for  the 
event  which  would  be  the  signal  of  my  downfall,  the 
summons  from  Antinea.  But  this  summons  was  not 
speedy  in  coming.  And  from  this  delay,  arose  my 
unhealthy  exasperation. 

Did  I  have  any  lucid  moments  In  the  course  of 
these  hours?  I  do  not  think  so.  I  do  not  recall 
having  even  said  to  myself,  "What,  aren't  you 
ashamed?  Captive  in  an  unheard  of  situation,  you 
not  only  are  not  trying  to  escape,  but  you  even  bless 
your  servitude  and  look  forward  to  your  ruin."  I 
did  not  even  color  my  desire  to  remain  there,  to  en- 
joy the  next  step  in  the  adventure,  by  the  pretext 
I  might  have  given — unwillingness  to  escape  without 
Morhange.  If  T  felt  a  vague  uneasiness  at  not  see- 
ing him  again,  it  was  not  because  of  a  desire  to  know 
that  he  was  well  and  safe. 

Well  and  safe,  I  knew  him  to  be,  moreover.  The 
Tuareg  slaves  of  Antinea's  household  were  certainly 
not  very  communicative.  The  women  were  hardly 
more  loquacious.  I  heard,  it  is  tnie,  from  Sydya 
and  Aguida,  that  my  companion  liked  pomegranates 
or  that  he  could  not  endure  koiiskous  of  bananas. 
But  If  I  asked  for  a  different  kind  of  Information, 


214  ATLANTIDA 

they  fled,  in  fright,  clown  the  long  corridors.  With 
Tanit-Zerga,  It  was  different.  This  child  seemed  to 
have  a  distaste  for  mentioning  before  me  anything 
bearing  in  any  way  upon  Antinea.  Nevertheless,  I 
knew  that  she  was  devoted  to  her  mistress  with  a 
doglike  fidelity.  But  she  maintained  an  obstinate 
silence  if  I  pronounced  her  name  or,  persisting,  the 
name  of  Morhange. 

As  for  the  Europeans,  I  did  not  care  to  question 
these  sinister  puppets.  Besides,  all  three  were  diffi- 
cult of  approach.  The  Hetman  of  JItomir  was  sink- 
ing deeper  and  deeper  Into  alcohol.  What  Intelli- 
gence remained  to  him,  he  seemed  to  have  dissolved 
the  evening  when  he  had  invoked  his  youth  for  me. 
I  met  him  from  time  to  time  in  the  corridors  that 
had  become  all  at  once  too  narrow  for  him,  hum- 
ming in  a  thick  voice  a  couplet  from  the  music  of 
La  Reine  Hortense. 

De  ma  fille  Isabelle 
Sots  I'epoux  a  Vinstant, 
Car  elle  est  la  plus  belle 
Et  tot,  le  plus  vaillant. 

As  for  Pastor  Spardek,  I  would  cheerfully  have 
killed  the  old  skinflint.  And  the  hideous  little  man 
with  the  decorations,  the  placid  printer  of  labels  for 
the  red  marble  hall, — how  could  I  meet  him  without 
wanting  to  cry  out  In  his  face:  "Eh!  eh!  Sir  Pro- 
fessor, a  very  curious  case  of  apocope :   *  k.r\avTLV€a 


HOURS     OF    WAIl'ING        215 

Suppression  of  alpha,  of  tau  and  of  lambda!  I 
would  like  to  direct  your  attention  to  another  case 
as  curious:  KkruxrjvT ivea,  Clementine.  Apocope  of 
kappa,  of  lamba,  of  epsilon  and  of  viu.  If  Mor- 
hange  were  with  us,  he  would  tell  you  many  charm- 
ing erudite  things  about  it.  But,  alas !  Morhange 
does  not  deign  to  come  among  us  any  more.  We 
never  see  Morhange." 

My  fever  for  information  found  a  little  more  fav- 
orable reception  from  Rosita,  the  old  negress  mani- 
cure. Never  have  I  had  my  nails  polished  so  often 
as  during  those  days  of  waiting!  Now — after  six- 
years — she  must  be  dead.  I  shall  not  wrong  her 
memory  by  recording  that  she  was  very  partial  to 
the  bottle.  The  poor  old  soul  was  defenseless  against 
those  that  I  brought  her  and  that  I  emptied  with  her, 
through  politeness. 

Unlike  the  other  slaves,  who  are  brought  from 
the  South  toward  Turkey  by  the  merchants  of  Rhat, 
she  was  born  in  Constantinople  and  had  been  brought 
into  Africa  by  her  master  when  he  became  ka'imakam 
of  Rhadames.  .  .  .  But  don't  let  me  complicate  this 
already  wandering  history  by  the  incantations  of 
this  manicure. 

"Antinea,"  she  said  to  me,  "Is  the  daughter  of 
El-Hadj-Ahmed-ben-Guemama,  Sultan  of  Ahaggar, 
and  Sheik  of  the  great  and  noble  tribe  of  Kel-Rhela. 
She  was  bom  In  the  year  twelve  hundred  and  eighty- 
one  of  the  Heglra.     She  has  never  wished  to  marry 


2i6  ATLANTIDA 

any  one.  Her  wish  has  been  respected  for  the  will 
of  women  is  sovereign  in  this  Ahaggar  where  she 
rules  to-day.  She  is  a  cousin  of  Sidi-el-Senoussi,  and, 
if  she  speaks  the  word,  Christian  blood  will  flow 
from  Djerid  to  Touat,  and  from  Tchad  to  Senegal. 
If  she  had  wished  it,  she  might  have  lived  beautiful 
and  respected  in  the  land  of  the  Christians.  But  she 
prefers  to  have  them  come  to  her." 

"Cegheir-ben-Cheikh,"  I  said,  "do  you  know  him? 
He  is  entirely  devoted  to  her?" 

"Nobody  here  knows  Cegheir-ben-Cheikh  very 
well,  because  he  is  continually  traveling.  It  is  true 
that  he  is  entirely  devoted  to  Antinea.  Cegheir-ben- 
Cheikh  is  a  Senoussi,  and  Antinea  is  the  cousin  of 
the  chief  of  the  Senoussi.  Besides,  he  owes  his  life 
to  her.  He  is  one  of  the  men  who  assassinated  the 
great  Kebir  Flatters.  On  account  of  that,  Ikenouk- 
hen,  amenokol  of  the  Adzjer  Tuareg,  fearing  French 
reprisals,  wanted  to  deliver  Cegheir-ben-Cheikh  to 
them.  When  the  whole  Sahara  turned  against  him, 
he  found  asylum  with  Antinea.  Cegheir-ben-Cheikh 
will  never  forget  it,  for  he  is  brave  and  observes  the 
law  of  the  Prophet.  To  thank  her,  he  led  to  An- 
tinea, who  was  then  twenty  years  old,  three  French 
officers  of  the  first  troops  of  occupation  in  Tunis. 
They  are  the  ones  who  are  numbered,  in  the  red 
marble  hall,  i,  2,  and  3." 

"And  Cegheir-ben-Cheikh  has  always  fulfilled  his 
duties  successfully?" 


HOURS     OF    WAITING        217 

"Cegheir-ben-Chcikh  Is  well  trained,  and  he  knows 
the  vast  Sahara  as  I  know  my  little  room  at  the  top 
of  the  mountain.  At  first,  he  made  mistakes.  That 
is  how,  on  his  first  trips,  he  brought  back  old  Le 
Mesge  and  marabout  Spardek." 

"What  did  Antlnea  say  when  she  saw  them?" 

"Antinea?  She  laughed  so  iiard  that  she  spared 
them.  Ceghelr-ben-Cheikh  was  vexed  to  see  her 
laugh  so.  Since  then,  he  has  never  made  a  mis- 
take." 

"He  has  never  made  a  mistake?" 

"No.  I  have  cared  for  the  hands  and  feet  of  all 
that  he  has  brought  here.  All  were  young  and 
handsome.  But  I  think  that  your  comrade,  whom 
they  brought  to  me  the  other  day,  after  you  were 
here,  is  the  handsomest  of  all." 

"Why,"  I  asked,  turning  the  conversation,  "why, 
since  she  spared  them  their  lives,  did  she  not  free 
the  pastor  and  M.  Le  Mesge?" 

"She  has  found  them  useful,  it  seems,"  said  the 
old  woman.  "And  then,  whoever  once  enters  here, 
can  never  leave.  Otherwise,  the  French  would  soon 
be  here  and,  when  they  saw  the  hall  of  red  marble, 
they  would  massacre  everybody.  Besides,  of  all 
those  whom  Cegheir-ben-Cheikh  has  brought  here, 
no  one,  save  one,  has  wished  to  escape  after  seeing 
Antinea." 

"She  keeps  them  a  long  time?" 

"That  depends  upon  them  and  the  pleasure  that 


2i8  ATLANTIDA 

she  takes  in  them.  Two  months,  three  months,  on 
the  average.  It  depends.  A  big  Belgian  officer, 
formed  like  a  colossus,  didn't  last  a  week.  On  the 
other  hand,  everyone  here  remembers  little  Douglas 
Kaine,  an  English  officer:  she  kept  him  almost  a 
year." 

"And  then?" 

"And  then,  he  died,"  said  the  old  woman  as  if 
astonished  at  my  question. 

"Of  whaf-  did  he  die?" 

She  used  the  same  phrase  as  M.  Le  Mesge: 

"Like  all  the  others :  of  love. 

"Of  love,"  she  continued.  "They  all  die  of  love 
when  they  see  that  their  time  is  ended,  and  that 
Cegheir-ben-Cheikh  has  gone  to  find  others.  Sev- 
eral have  died  quietly  with  tears  in  their  great  eyes. 
They  neither  ate  nor  slept  any  more.  A  French 
naval  officer  went  mad.  All  night,  he  sang  a  sad 
song  of  his  native  country,  a  song  which  echoed 
through  the  whole  mountain.  Another,  a  Spaniard, 
was  as  if  maddened:  he  tried  to  bite.  It  was  neces- 
sary to  kill  him.  Many  have  died  of  kif,  a  kif 
that  Is  more  violent  than  opium.  When  they  no 
longer  have  Antinea,  they  smoke,  smoke.  Most 
have  died  that  way  .  .  .  the  happiest.  Little  Kaine 
died  differently." 

"How  did  little  Kaine  die?" 

"In  a  way  that  pained  us  all  very  much.  I  told 
you  that  he  stayed  longer  among  us  than  anyone 


HOURS    OF    WAITING        219 

else.  We  had  become  used  to  him.  In  Antinea's 
room,  on  a  little  Kairoun  table,  painled  in  blue  and 
gold,  there  is  a  gong  with  a  long  silver  hammer  with 
an  ebony  handle,  very  heavy.  Aguida  told  me  about 
it.  When  Antinea  gave  little  Kaine  his  dismissal, 
smihng  as  she  always  does,  he  stopped  in  front  of 
her,  mute,  very  pale.  She  struck  the  gong  for  some- 
one to  take  him  away.  A  Targa  slave  came.  But 
little  Kaine  had  leapt  for  the  hammer,  and  the  Targa 
lay  on  the  ground  with  his  skull  smashed.  Antinea 
smiled  all  the  time.  They  led  little  Kaine  to  his 
room.  The  same  night,  eluding  guards,  he  jumped 
out  of  his  window  at  a  height  of  two  hundred  feet. 
The  workmen  in  the  embalming  room  told  me  that 
they  had  the  greatest  difficulty  with  his  body.  But 
they  succeeded  very  well.  You  have  only  to  go  see 
for  yourself.  He  occupies  niche  num.ber  26  in  the 
red  marble  hall." 

The  old  woman  drowned  her  emotion  in  her  glass. 

"Two  days  before,"  she  continued,  "I  had  done 
his  nails,  here,  for  this  was  his  room.  On  the  wall, 
near  the  window,  he  had  written  something  in  the 
stone  with  his  knife.     See,  it  is  still  here." 

"Was  it  not  Fate,  that  on  this  July  midnight .  .  ." 

At  any  other  moment,  that  verse,  traced  in  the 
stone  of  the  window  through  which  the  English 
officer  had  hurled  himself,  would  have  killed  me  with 
overpowering  emotion.  But  just  then,  another 
thought  was  in  my  heart. 


220  ATLANTIDA 

"Tell  me,"  I  said,  controlling  my  voice  as  well  as 
I  could,  "v.  hen  Antlnea  holds  one  of  us  In  her  power, 
she  shuts  him  up  near  her,  does  she  not?  Nobody 
sees  him  any  more?" 

The  old  woman  shook  her  head. 

"She  is  not  afraid  that  he  will  escape.  The 
mountain  is  well  guarded.  Antinea  has  only  to  strike 
her  silver  gong;  he  will  be  brought  back  to  her  im- 
mediately." 

"But  my  companion.  I  have  not  seen  him  since 
she  sent  for  him.  .  .   ." 

The  negress  smiled  comprehendingly. 

"If  you  have  not  seen  him,  it  is  because  he  pre- 
fers to  remain  near  her.  Antinea  does  not  force 
him  to.    Neither  does  she  prevent  him." 

I  struck  my  fist  violently  upon  the  table. 

"Get  along  with  you,  old  fool.  And  be  quick 
about  it!" 

Rosita  fled  frightened,  hardly  taking  time  to  col- 
lect her  little  instruments. 

"Was  it  not  Fate,  that  on  this  July  midnight .  .  ." 

I  obeyed  the  negress's  suggestion.  Following  the 
corridors,  losing  my  way,  set  on  the  right  road  again 
by  the  Reverend  Spardek,  I  pushed  open  the  door 
of  the  red  marble  hall.    I  entered. 

The  freshness  of  the  perfumed  crypt  did  me  good. 
No  place  can  be  so  sinister  that  it  is  not,  as  it  were, 
purified  by  the  murmur  of  running  water.  The  cas- 
cade, gurgling  in  the  middle  hall,  comforted  me. 


HOURS     OF    WAITING        221 

One  day  before  an  attack  I  was  lying  with  my  section 
in  deep  grass,  waiting  for  the  moment,  the  blast  of 
the  bugle,  which  would  demand  that  wc  leap  for- 
ward into  the  hail  of  bullets.  A  stream  was  at  my 
feet.  I  listened  to  its  fresh  rippling.  I  admired  the 
play  of  light  and  shade  in  the  transparent  water,  the 
little  beasts,  the  little  black  fish,  the  green  grass,  the 
yellow  wrinkled  sand  .  .  .  The  mystery  of  water 
always  has  carried  me  out  of  myself. 

Here,  in  this  magic  hall,  my  thoughts  were  held 
by  the  dark  cascade.  It  felt  friendly.  It  kept 
me  from  faltering  in  the  midst  of  these  rigid 
evidences  of  so  many  monstrous  sacrifices.  .  .  . 
Number  26.  It  was  he  all  right.  Lieutenant 
Douglas  Kaine,  born  at  Edinburgh,  September  21, 
1862.  Died  at  Ahaggar,  July  16,  1890.  Twenty- 
eight.  He  w^asn't  even  twenty-eight  1  His  face  was 
thin  under  the  coat  of  orichalch.  His  mouth  sad 
and  passionate.  It  was  certainly  he.  Poor  young- 
ster.— Edinburgh, — I  knew  Edinburgh,  without  ever 
having  been  there.  From  the  wall  of  the  castle  you 
can  see  the  Pentland  hills.  "Look  a  little  lower 
down,"  said  Stevenson's  sweet  Miss  Flora  to  Anne 
of  Saint- Yves,  "look  a  little  lower  down  and  you  will 
see,  in  the  fold  of  the  hill,  a  clump  of  trees  and  a 
curl  of  smoke  that  rises  from  among  them.  That  is 
Swanston  Cottage,  where  my  brother  and  I  live  with 
my  aunt.  If  it  really  pleases  you  to  see  it,  I  shall  be 
glad."    When  he  left  for  Darfour,  Douglas  Kaine 


222  ATLANTIDA 

must  surely  have  left  in  Edinburgh  a  Miss  Flora,  as 
blonde  as  Saint-Yves'  Flora.  But  what  are  these 
shps  of  girls  beside  Antinea !  Kaine,  however  sen- 
sible a  mortal,  however  made  for  this  kind  of  love, 
had  loved  otherwise.  He  was  dead.  And  here  was 
number  27,  on  account  of  whom  Kaine  dashed  him- 
self on  the  rocks  of  the  Sahara,  and  who,  in  his  turn, 
is  dead  also. 

To  die,  to  love.  How  naturally  the  word  resound- 
ed in  the  red  marble  hall.  How  Antinea  seemed  to 
tower  above  that  circle  of  pale  statues !  Does  love, 
then,  need  so  much  death  in  order  that  it  may  be  mul- 
tiplied? Other  women,  in  other  parts  of  the  world, 
are  doubtless  as  beautiful  as  Antinea,  more  beauti- 
ful perhaps.  I  hold  you  to  witness  that  I  have  not 
said  much  about  her  beauty.  Why  then,  this  obses- 
sion, this  fever,  this  consumption  of  all  my  being? 
Why  am  I  ready,  for  the  sake  of  pressing  this  quiv- 
ering form  within  my  arms  for  one  instant,  to  face 
things  that  I  dare  not  think  of  for  fear  I  should 
tremble  before  them? 

Here  is  number  53,  the  last.  Morhange  will  be 
54.  I  shall  be  55.  In  six  months,  eight,  perhaps, — 
what  difference  anyway? — I  shall  be  hoisted  into 
this  niche,  an  image  without  eyes,  a  dead  soul,  a 
finished  body. 

I  touched  the  heights  of  bliss,  of  exaltation 
that  can  be  felt.  What  a  child  I  was,  just  now! 
I  lost  my  temper  with  a  negro  manicure.     I  was 


HOURS     OF    WAITING        223 

jealous  of  Morhange,  on  my  word !  Wh'*'  not, 
since  1  was  at  it,  be  jealous  of  those  here  nresent; 
then  of  the  others,  the  absent,  who  will  come, 
one  by  one,  to  fill  the  black  circle  of  the  still  empty 
niches.  .  .  .  Morhange,  I  know,  is  at  this  moment 
with  Antinea,  and  it  is  to  me  a  bitter  and  splendid 
joy  to  think  of  his  joy.  But  some  evening,  in  three 
months,  four  perhaps,  the  embalmers  will  come  here. 
Niche  54  will  receive  its  prey.  Then  a  Targa  slave 
will  advance  toward  me.  I  shall  shiver  with  superb 
ecstacy.  He  will  touch  my  arm.  And  it  will  be  my 
turn  to  penetrate  into  eternity  by  the  bleeding  door 

of  love. 

***** 

When  I  emerged  from  my  meditation,  I  found 
myself  back  in  the  library,  where  the  falling  night 
obscured  the  shadows  of  the  people  who  were  as- 
sembled there. 

I  recognized  M.  Le  Mesge,  the  Pastor,  the  Het- 
man,  Aguida,  two  Tuareg  slaves,  still  more,  all  join- 
ing in  the  most  animated  conference. 

I  drew  nearer,  astonished,  even  alarmed  to  see 
together  so  many  people  who  ordinarily  felt  no  kind 
of  sympathy  for  each  other. 

An  unheard  of  occurrence  had  thrown  all  the  peo- 
ple of  the  mountain  into  uproar. 

Two  Spanish  explorers,  come  from  Rio  de  Oro, 
had  been  seen  to  the  West,  in  Adhar  Ahnet. 

As      soon      as      Cegheir-ben-Cheikh      was      in- 


224  ATLANTIDA 

formed,    he   had  prepared   to   go   to   meet   them. 

At  that  instant  he  had  received  the  order  to  do 
nothing. 

Henceforth  it  was  impossible  to  doubt. 

For  the  first  time,  Antinea  was  in  love. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE    LAMENT    OF    TANIT-ZERGA 

"Arraou,  arraou." 

I  roused  myself  vaguely  from  the  half  sleep  to 
which  I  had  finally  succumbed.  I  half  opened  my 
eyes.     Immediately  I  flattened  back. 

''Arraour 

Two  feet  from  my  face  was  the  muzzle  of  King 
Hiram,  yellow  with  a  tracery  of  black.  The  leopard 
was  helping  me  to  wake  up;  otherwise  he  took  little 
interest,  for  he  yawned;  his  dark  red  jaws,  beautiful 
gleaming  white  fangs,  opened  and  closed  lazily. 

At  the  same  moment  I  heard  a  burst  of  laughter. 

It  was  little  Tanit-Zerga.  She  was  crouching  on 
a  cushion  near  the  divan  where  I  was  stretched  out, 
curiously  watching  my  close  interview  with  the 
leopard. 

"King  Hiram  was  bored,"  she  felt  obliged  to  ex- 
plain to  me.     "I  brought  him." 

"How  nice,"  I  growled.  "Only  tell  me,  could  he 
not  have  gone  somewhere  else  to  be  amused?" 

"He  is  all  alone  now,"  said  the  girl.  "They  have 
225 


226  ATLANTIDA 

sent  him  away.  He  made  too  much  noise  when  he 
played." 

These  words  recalled  me  to  the  events  of  the 
previous  evening. 

"If  you  like,  I  will  make  him  go  away,"  said 
Tanit-Zerga. 

"No,  let  him  alone." 

I  looked  at  the  leopard  with  sympathy.  Our  com- 
mon misfortune  brought  us  together. 

I  even  caressed  his  rounded  forehead.  King 
Hiram  showed  his  contentment  by  stretching  out  at 
full  length  and  uncurling  his  great  amber  claws.  The 
mat  on  the  floor  had  much  to  suffer. 

"Gale  is  here,  too,"  said  the  little  girl. 

"Gale I    Who  may  he  be?" 

At  the  same  time,  I  saw  on  Tanit-Zerga's  knees 
a  strange  animal,  about  the  size  of  a  big  cat,  with 
flat  ears,  and  a  long  muzzle.  Its  pale  gray  fur  was 
rough. 

It  was  watching  me  with  queer  little  pink 
eyes. 

"It  is  my  mongoose,"  explained  Tanit-Zerga. 

"Come  now,"  I  said  sharply,  "is  that  all?" 

I  must  have  looked  so  crabbed  and  ridiculous  that 
Tanit-Zerga  began  to  laugh.    I  laughed,  too. 

"Gale  is  my  friend,"  she  said  when  she  was  seri- 
ous again.  "I  saved  her  life.  It  was  when  she  was 
quite  little.  I  will  tell  you  about  it  some  day.  See 
how  good-natured  she  is." 


THE  LAMENT  OF  TANIT-ZERGA   227 

So  saying,  she  dropped  the  mongoose  on  my 
knees. 

"It  is  very  nice  of  you,  Tanit-Zerga,"  I  said,  "to 
come  and  pay  me  a  visit."  I  passed  my  hand  slowly 
over  the  animal's  back.     "What  time  is  it  now?" 

"A  little  after  nine.  See,  the  sun  is  already  high. 
Let  me  draw  the  shade." 

The  room  was  in  darkness.  Gale's  eyes  grew  red- 
der.    King  Hiram's  became  green. 

"It  is  very  nice  of  you,"  I  repeated,  pursuing  my 
idea.  "I  see  that  you  are  free  to-day.  You  never 
came  so  early  before." 

A  shade  passed  over  the  girl's  forehead. 

"Yes,  I  am  free,"  she  said,  almost  bitterly. 

I  looked  at  Tanit-Zerga  more  closely.  For  the 
first  time  I  realized  that  she  was  beautiful.  Her 
hair,  which  she  wore  falling  over  her  shoulders,  was 
not  so  much  curly  as  it  was  gently  waving.  Her  fea- 
tures were  of  remarkable  fineness:  the  nose  very 
straight,  a  small  mouth  with  delicate  lips,  a  strong 
chin.  She  was  not  black,  but  copper  colored.  Her 
slender  graceful  body  had  nothing  in  common  with 
the  disgusting  thick  sausages  which  the  carefully 
cared  for  bodies  of  the  blacks  become. 

A  large  circle  of  copper  made  a  heav^  decoration 
around  her  forehead  and  hair.  She  had  four  brace- 
lets, still  heavier,  on  her  wrists  and  anklets,  and,  for 
clothing,  a  green  silk  tunic,  slashed  in  points,  braided 
with  gold.     Green,  bronze,  gold. 


228  ATLANTIDA 

"You  are  a  Sonrhai",  Tanit-Zerga?"  I  asked 
gently. 

She  replied  with  almost  ferocious  pride : 

"I  am  a  Sonrhai." 

"Strange  little  thing,"  I  thought. 

Evidently  this  was  a  subject  on  which  Tanit- 
Zerga  did  not  intend  the  conversation  to  turn.  I  re- 
called how,  almost  painfully,  she  had  pronounced 
that  "they,"  when  she  had  told  me  how  they  had 
driven  away  King  Hiram. 

"I  am  a  Sonrhai,"  she  repeated.  "I  was  born  at 
Gao,  on  the  Niger,  the  ancient  Sonrhai  capital.  My 
fathers  reigned  over  the  great  Mandigue  Empire. 
You  need  not  scorn  me  because  I  am  here  as  a 
slave." 

In  a  ray  of  sunlight.  Gale,  seated  on  his  little 
haunches,  washed  his  shining  mustaches  with  his 
forepaws;  and  King  Hiram,  stretched  out  on  the 
mat,  groaned  plaintively  in  his  sleep. 

"He  is  dreaming,"  said  Tanit-Zerga,  a  finger  on 
her  lips. 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence.     Then  she  said: 

"You  must  be  hungry.  And  I  do  not  think  that 
you  will  want  to  eat  with  the  others." 

I  did  not  answer. 

"You  must  eat,"  she  continued.  "If  you  like,  I 
will  go  get  something  to  eat  for  you  and  me.  I  will 
bring  King  Hiram's  and  Gale's  dinner  here,  too. 
When  you  are  sad,  you  should  not  stay  alone." 


THE  LAMENT  OF  TANIT-ZERGA  229 

And  the  little  green  and  gold  fairy  vanished,  with- 
out waiting  for  my  answer. 

That  was  how  my  friendship  with  Tanit-Zerga 
began.  Each  morning  she  came  to  my  room  with 
the  two  beasts.  She  rarely  spoke  to  me  of  Antinea, 
and  when  she  did,  it  was  always  indirectly.  The 
question  that  she  saw  ceaselessly  hovering  on  my 
lips  seemed  to  be  unbearable  to  her,  and  I  felt  her 
avoiding  all  the  subjects  towards  which  I,  myself, 
dared  not  direct  the  conversation. 

To  make  sure  of  avoiding  them,  she  prattled, 
prattled,  prattled,  like  a  nervous  little  parokeet. 

I  was  sick  and  this  Sister  of  Charity  in  green  and 
bronze  silk  tended  me  with  such  care  as  never  was 
before.  The  two  wild  beasts,  the  big  and  the  little, 
were  there,  each  side  of  my  couch,  and,  during  my 
delirium,  I  saw  their  mysterious,  sad  eyes  fixed  on 
me. 

In  her  melodious  voice,  Tanit-Zerga  told  me  won- 
derful stories,  and  among  them,  the  one  she  thought 
most  wonderful,  the  story  of  her  life. 

It  was  not  till  much  later,  very  suddenly,  that  I 
realized  how  far  this  little  barbarian  had  penetrated 
into  my  own  life.  Wherever  thou  art  at  this  hour, 
dear  little  girl,  from  whatever  peaceful  shores  thou 
watchest  my  tragedy,  cast  a  look  at  thy  friend,  par- 
don him  for  not  having  accorded  thee,  from  the  very 
first,  the  gratitude  that  thou  deservedest  so  richly. 

"I  remember  from  my  childhood,"  she  said,  "the 


230  ATLANTIDA 

vision  of  a  yellow  and  rose-colored  sun  rising 
through  the  morning  mists  over  the  smooth  waves  of 
a  great  river,  'the  river  where  there  is  water,'  the 
Niger,  it  was.  .  .  .  But  you  are  not  listening  to  me." 

"I  am  listening  to  you,  I  swear  it,  little  Tanit- 
Zerga." 

"You  are  sure  I  am  not  wearying  you  ?  You  want 
me  to  go  on?" 

"Go  on,  little  Tanit-Zerga,  go  on." 

"Well,  with  my  little  companions,  of  whom  I  was 
very  fond,  I  played  at  the  edge  of  the  river  where 
there  is  water,  under  the  jujube  trees,  brothers  of 
the  zeg-zeg,  the  spines  of  which  pierced  the  head  of 
your  prophet  and  which  we  call  'the  tree  of  Para- 
dise' because  our  prophet  told  us  that  under  it 
would  live  those  chosen  of  Paradise;^  and  which  is 
sometimes  so  big,  so  big,  that  a  horseman  cannot  tra- 
verse its  shade  in  a  century. 

"There  we  wove  beautiful  garlands  with  mimosa, 
the  pink  flowers  of  the  caper  bush  and  white  cockles. 
Then  we  threw  them  in  the  green  water  to  ward  off 
evil  spirits;  and  we  laughed  like  mad  things  when  a 
great  snorting  hippopotamus  raised  his  swollen  head 
and  we  bombarded  him  in  glee  until  he  had  to  plunge 
back  again  with  a  tremendous  splash. 

"That  was  in  the  mornings.     Then  there  fell  on 

Gao  the  deathlike  lull  of  the  red  siesta.     When  that 

1  The  Koran,  Chapter  66,  verse  17.    (Note  by  M.  Leroux.) 


THE  LAMENT  OF  TANIT-ZERGA    ^231 

was  finished,  we  came  back  to  the  edf^e  of  the  river 
to  see  the  enormous  crocodiles  with  bronze  gopglc- 
eyes  creep  along  little  by  little,  among  the  clouds  of 
mosquitoes  and  day-flies  on  the  banks,  and  work  their 
way  traitorously  into  the  yellow  ooze  of  the  mud 
flats. 

"Then  we  bombarded  them,  as  we  had  done  the 
hippopotamus  in  the  morning;  and  to  fete  the  sun 
setting  behind  the  black  branches  of  the  douldouls, 
we  made  a  circle,  stamping  our  feet,  then  clapping 
our  hands,  as  we  sang  the  SonrhaT  hymn. 

"Such  were  the  ordinary'  occupations  of  free  little 
girls.  But  you  must  not  think  that  we  were  only 
frivolous;  and  I  will  tell  you,  if  you  like,  how  I,  who 
am  talking  to  you,  I  saved  a  French  chieftain  who 
must  be  vastly  greater  than  yourself,  to  judge  by 
the  number  of  gold  ribbons  he  had  on  his  white 
sleeves. 

"Tell  me,  little  Tanit-Zerga,"  I  said,  my  eyes  else- 
where. 

"You  have  no  right  to  smile,"  she  said  a  little 
aggriev^ed,  "and  to  pay  no  attention  to  me.  But  never 
mind!  It  is  for  myself  that  I  tell  these  things,  for 
the  sake  of  recollection.  Above  Gao,  the  Niger 
makes  a  bend.  There  is  a  little  promontory  In  the 
river,  thickly  covered  with  large  gum  trees.  It  was 
an  evening  in  August  and  the  sun  was  sinking.  Not 
a  bird  in  the  forest  but  had  gone  to  rest,  motionless 
until  the  morning.    Suddenly  we  heard  an  unfamiliar 


232  ATLANTIDA 

noise  In  the  west,  boum-boum,  boum-boum,  boum- 
baraboum,  boum-boum,  growing  louder — ^boum- 
boum,  boum-baraboum — and,  suddenly,  there  was 
a  great  flight  of  water  birds,  aigrettes,  pelicans, 
wild  ducks  and  teal,  which  scattered  over  the  gum 
trees,  followed  by  a  column  of  black  smoke,  which 
was  scarcely  flurried  by  the  breeze  that  was  spring- 
ing up. 

"It  was  a  gunboat,  turning  the  point,  sending  out 
a  wake  that  shook  the  overhanging  bushes  on  each 
side  of  the  river.  One  could  see  that  the  red,  white 
and  blue  flag  on  die  stern  had  drooped  till  it  was 
dragging  in  the  water,  so  heavy  was  the  evening. 

"She  stopped  at  the  little  point  of  land.  A  small 
boat  was  let  down,  manned  by  two  native  soldiers 
who  rowed,  and  three  chiefs  who  soon  leapt  ashore. 

"The  oldest,  a  French  marabout,  with  a  great 
white  burnous,  who  knew  our  language  marvelously, 
asked  to  speak  to  Sheik  Sonni-Azkia.  When  my 
father  advanced  and  told  him  that  it  was  he,  the 
marabout  told  him  that  the  commandant  of  the  Club 
at  Timbuctoo  was  very  angry,  that  a  mile  from  there 
the  gunboat  had  run  on  an  invisible  pile  of  logs,  that 
she  had  sprung  a  leak  and  that  she  could  not  so  con- 
tinue her  voyage  towards  Ansango. 

"My  father  replied  that  the  French  who  pro- 
tected the  poor  natives  against  the  Tuareg  were  wel- 
come :  that  it  was  not  from  evil  design,  but  for  fish 
that  they  had  built  the  barrage,  and  that  he  put  all 


THE  LAMENT  OF  TANIT-ZERGA    233 

the  resources  of  Gao,  including  the  forge,  at  the  dis- 
position of  the  French  chief,  for  repairing  the  gun- 
boat. 

"While  they  were  talking,  the  French  chief  looked 
at  me  and  I  looked  at  him.  He  was  already  middle- 
aged,  tall,  with  shoulders  a  little  bent,  and  blue  eyes 
as  clear  as  the  stream  whose  name  I  bear. 

*'  'Come  here,  little  one,'  he  said  in  his  gentle 
voice. 

"  'I  am  the  daughter  of  Sheik  Sonni-Azkia,  and 
I  do  only  what  I  wish,'  I  replied,  vexed  at  his  in- 
formality. 

*'  'You  are  right,'  he  answered  smiling,  'for  you 
are  pretty.  Will  you  give  me  the  flowers  that  you 
have  around  your  neck?' 

"It  was  a  great  necklace  of  purple  hibiscus.  I 
held  it  out  to  him.  He  kissed  me.  The  peace  was 
made. 

"Meantime,  under  the  direction  of  my  father,  the 
native  soldiers  and  strong  men  of  the  tribe  had 
hauled  the  gunboat  into  a  pocket  of  the  river. 

"  'There  is  work  there  for  all  day  to-morrow, 
Colonel,'  said  the  chief  mechanic,  after  inspecting 
the  leaks.  'We  won't  be  able  to  get  away  before 
the  day  after  to-morrow.  And,  if  we're  to  do  that, 
these  lazy  soldiers  mustn't  loaf  on  the  job.* 

"  'What  an  awful  bore,'  groaned  my  new  friend. 

"But  his  ill-humor  did  not  last  long,  so  ardently 
did  my  little  companions  and  I  seek  to  distract  him. 


234  ATLANTIDA 

He  listened  to  our  most  beautiful  songs;  and,  to 
thank  us,  made  us  taste  the  good  things  that  had 
been  brought  from  the  boat  for  his  dinner.  He 
slept  in  our  great  cabin,  which  my  father  gave  up 
to  him;  and  for  a  long  time,  before  I  went  to  sleep, 
I  looked  through  the  cracks  of  the  cabin  where  I 
lay  with  my  mother,  at  the  lights  of  the  gunboat 
trembling  in  red  ripples  on  the  surface  of  the  dark 
waves. 

"That  night,  I  had  a  frightful  dream.  I  saw  my 
friend,  the  French  officer,  sleeping  in  peace,  while 
a  great  crow  hung  croaking  above  his  head:  'Caw 
— caw — the  shade  of  the  gum  trees  of  Gao — caw, 
caw — will  avail  nothing  to-morrow  night — caw, 
caw — to  the  white  chief  nor  to  his  escort* 

"Dawn  had  scarcely  begun,  when  I  went  to  find 
the  native  soldiers.  They  were  stretched  out  on  the 
bridge  of  the  gunboat,  taking  advantage  of  the  fact 
that  the  whites  were  still  sleeping,  to  do  nothing. 

"I  approached  the  oldest  one  and  spoke  to  him 
with  authority: 

"  'Listen,  I  saw  the  black  crow  in  a  dream  last 
night.  He  told  me  that  the  shade  of  the  gum  trees 
of  Gao  would  be  fatal  to  your  chief  in  the  coming 
night!  .  .  .* 

"And,  as  they  all  remained  motionless,  stretched 
out,  gazing  at  the  sky,  without  even  seeming  to  have 
heard,  I  added: 


THE  LAMENT  OF  TANIT-ZERGA    235 

•*  'And  to  his  escort!' 

It  was  the  hour  when  the  sun  was  highest,  and  the 
Colonel  was  eating  In  the  cabin  with  the  other 
Frenchmen,  when  the  chief  mechanic  entered. 

*'  'I  don't  know  what  has  come  over  tiie  natives. 
They  are  working  like  angels.  If  they  keep  on  this 
way,  Colonel,  we  shall  be  able  to  leave  this  evening.' 

"  'Very  good,'  said  the  Colonel,  'but  don't  let 
them  spoil  the  job  by  too  much  haste.  We  don't 
have  to  be  at  Ansango  before  the  end  of  the  week. 
It  will  be  better  to  start  in  the  morning.' 

"I  trembled.  Suppliantly  I  approached  and  told 
him  the  story  of  my  dream.  He  listened  with  a  smile 
of  astonishment;  then,  at  the  last,  he  said  gravely: 

"  'It  is  agreed,  little  Tanit-Zerga.  We  will  leave 
this  evening  If  you  wish  It.' 

"And  he  kissed  me. 

"The  darkness  had  already  fallen  when  the  gun- 
boat, now  repaired,  left  the  harbor.  My  friend 
stood  in  the  midst  of  the  group  of  Frenchmen  who 
waved  their  caps  as  long  as  we  could  see  them. 
Standing  alone  on  the  rickety  jetty,  I  waited,  watch- 
ing the  water  flow  by,  until  the  last  sound  of  the 
steam-driven  vessel,  boum-baraboum,  had  died  away 
Into  the  night.* 

^  Cf.  the  records  and  the  Bulletin  de  la  Sociile  de  Geogra- 
phie  de  Paris  (1897)  for  the  cruises  on  the  Niger,  made  by  the 
Commandant  of  the  Timbuctoo  region,  Colonel  Joffre,  Lieu- 
tenants Baudry  and  Bluset.  and  by  Father  Hacquart  of  the 
White  Fathers.     (Note  by  M.  Leroux.) 


236  ATLANTIDA 

Tanit-Zerga  paused. 

"That  was  the  last  night  of  Gao.  While  I  was 
sleeping  and  the  moon  was  still  high  above  the  forest, 
a  dog  yelped,  but  only  for  an  instant.  Then  came 
the  cry  of  men,  then  of  women,  the  kind  of  cry  that 
you  can  never  forget  if  you  have  once  heard  it. 
When  the  sun  rose,  it  found  me,  quite  naked,  run- 
ning and  stumbling  towards  the  north  with  my  little 
companions,  beside  the  swiftly  moving  camels  of  the 
Tuareg  who  escorted  us.  Behind,  followed  the 
women  of  the  tribe,  my  mother  among  them,  two 
by  two,  the  yoke  upon  their  necks.  There  were  not 
many  men.  Almost  all  lay  with  their  throats  cut 
under  the  ruins  of  the  thatch  of  Gao  beside  my 
father,  brave  Sonni-Azkia.  Once  again  Gao  had 
been  razed  by  a  band  of  Awellimiden,  who  had  come 
to  massacre  the  French  on  their  gunboat. 

"The  Tuareg  hurried  us,  hurried  us,  for  they 
were  afraid  of  being  pursued.  We  traveled  thus 
for  ten  days;  and,  as  the  millet  and  hemp  disap- 
peared, the  march  became  more  frightful.  Finally, 
near  Isakeryen,  in  the  country  of  Kidal,  the  Tuareg 
sold  us  to  a  caravan  of  Trarzan  Moors  who  were 
going  from  Bamrouk  to  Rhat.  At  first,  because  they 
went  more  slowly,  it  seemed  good  fortune.  But,  be- 
fore long,  the  desert  was  an  expanse  of  rough  peb- 
bles, and  the  women  began  to  fall.  As  for  the  men, 
the  last  of  them  had  died  far  back  under  the  blows 
of  the  stick  for  having  refused  to  go  farther. 


THE  LAMENT  OF  TANIT-ZERGA     237 

"I  still  had  the  strength  to  keep  going,  and  even 
as  far  in  the  lead  as  possible,  so  as  not  to  hear  the 
cries  of  my  little  playmates.  Each  time  one  of  them 
fell  by  the  way,  unable  to  rise  again,  they  saw  one 
of  the  drivers  descend  from  his  camel  and  drag  her 
into  the  bushes  a  little  way  to  cut  her  throat.  But 
one  day,  I  heard  a  cry  that  made  me  turn  around. 
It  was  my  mother.  She  was  kneeling,  holding  out 
her  poor  arms  to  me.  In  an  instant  I  was  beside 
her.  But  a  great  Moor,  dressed  in  white,  separated 
us.  A  red  moroccan  case  hung  around  his  neck  from 
a  black  chaplet.  He  drew  a  cutlass  from  it.  I  can 
still  see  the  blue  steel  on  the  brown  skin.  Another 
horrible  cry.  An  instant  later,  driven  by  a  club,  I 
was  trotting  ahead,  swallowing  my  little  tears,  try- 
ing to  regain  my  place  in  the  caravan. 

"Near  the  wells  of  Asiou,  the  Moors  were  at- 
tacked by  a  party  of  Tuareg  of  Kel-Tazeholet,  serfs 
of  the  great  tribe  of  Kel-Rhela,  which  rules  over 
Ahaggar.  They,  in  their  turn,  were  massacred  to  the 
last  man.  That  is  how  I  was  brought  here,  and  of- 
fered as  homage  to  Antinea,  who  was  pleased  with 
me  and  ever  since  has  been  kind  to  me.  That  is  why 
it  is  no  slave  who  soothes  your  fev^er  to-day  with 
stories  that  you  do  not  even  listen  to,  but  the  last 
descendant  of  the  great  Sonrha'f  Emperors,  of  Sonnl- 
Ali,  the  destroyer  of  men  and  of  countries,  of  Mo- 
hammed Azkia,  who  made  the  pilgrimage  to  Mecca, 
taking  with  him  fifteen  hundred  cavaliers  and  three 


238  ATLANTIDA 

hundred  thousand  mithkal  of  gold  in  the  days  when 
our  power  stretched  without  rival  from  Chad  to 
Touat  and  to  the  western  sea,  and  when  Gao  raised 
her  cupola,  sister  of  the  sky,  above  the  other  cities, 
higher  above  her  rival  cupolas  -than  is  the  tamarisk 
above  the  humble  plants  of  sorghum." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE    SILVER    HAMMER 


Je  ne  m'cn  defends  plus  et  je  nc  veux  qu'  aller 
Reconnaitre  la  place  ou  je  dots  I'immoler. 

(Andromaque.) 


It  was  this  sort  of  a  night  when  what  I  am  going 
to  tell  you  now  happened.  Toward  five  o'clock  the 
sky  clouded  over  and  a  sense  of  the  coming  storm 
trembled  in  the  stifling  air. 

I  shall  always  remember  it.  It  was  the  fifth  of 
January,  1897. 

King  Hiram  and  Gale  lay  heavily  on  the  matting 
of  my  room.  Leaning  on  my  elbows  beside  Tanit- 
Zerga  in  the  rock-hewn  window,  I  spied  the  advance 
tremors  of  lightning. 

One  by  one  they  rose,  streaking  the  now  total 
darkness  with  their  bluish  stripes.  But  no  burst  of 
thunder  followed.  The  storm  did  not  attain  the 
peaks  of  Ahaggar.  It  passed  without  breaking,  leav- 
ing us  in  our  gloomy  bath  of  sweat. 

"I  am  going  to  bed,"  said  Tanit-Zerga. 

I  have  said  that  her  room  was  above  mine.     Its 

239 


240  ATLANTIDA 

bay  window  was  some  thirty  feet  above  that  before 
which  I  lay. 

She  took  Gale  in  her  arms.  But  King  Hiram 
would  have  none  of  it.  Digging  his  four  paws  into 
the  matting,  he  whined  in  anger  and  uneasiness, 

"Leave  him,"  I  finally  said  to  Tanit-Zerga.  "For 
once  he  may  sleep  here." 

So  it  was  that  this  little  beast  incurred  his  large 
share  of  responsibility  in  the  events  which  followed. 

Left  alone,  I  became  lost  in  my  reflections.  The 
night  was  black.  The  whole  mountain  was  shrouded 
in  silence. 

It  took  the  louder  and  louder  growls  of  the  leop- 
ard to  rouse  me  from  my  meditation. 

King  Hiram  was  braced  against  the  door,  digging 
at  it  with  his  drawn  claws.  He,  who  had  refused 
to  follow  Tanit-Zerga  a  while  ago,  now  wanted  to 
go  out.     He  was  determined  to  go  out. 

"Be  still,"  I  said  to  him.  "Enough  of  that.  Lie 
down !" 

I  tried  to  pull  him  away  from  the  door. 

I  succeeded  only  in  getting  a  staggering  blow  from 
his  paw. 

Then  I  sat  down  on  the  divan. 

My  quiet  was  short.  "Be  honest  with  yourself," 
I  said.  "Since  Morhange  abandoned  you,  since  the 
day  when  you  saw  Antinea,  you  have  had  only  one 
idea.  What  good  is  it  to  beguile  yourself  with  the 
stories  of  Tanit-Zerga,  charming  as  they  are?    This 


THE     SILVER     H  A  M  M  I-  R     241 

leopard  is  a  pretext,  perhaps  a  guide.  Oh,  you  know 
that  mysterious  things  arc  going  to  happen  to-night. 
How  have  you  been  able  to  keep  from  doing  any- 
thing as  long  as  this?" 

Immediately  I  made  a  resolve. 

"If  I  open  the  door,"  I  thought,  "King  Hiram 
will  leap  down  the  corridor  and  I  shall  have  great 
difficulty  in  following  him.  I  must  find  some  other 
way. 

The  shade  of  the  window  was  worked  by  means 
of  a  small  cord.  I  pulled  it  down.  Then  I  tied  it 
into  a  firm  leash  which  I  fastened  to  the  metal  collar 
of  the  leopard. 

I  half  opened  the  door. 

"There,  now  you  can  go.     But  quietly,  quietly." 

I  had  all  the  trouble  in  the  world  to  curb  the  ardor 
of  King  Hiram  who  dragged  me  along  the  shadowy 
labyrinth  of  corridors.  It  was  shortly  before  nine 
o'clock,  and  the  rose-colored  night  lights  were  al- 
most burned  out  in  the  niches.  Now  and  then,  we 
passed  one  which  was  casting  its  last  flickers.  What 
a  labyrinth!  I  realized  that  from  here  on  I  would 
not  recognize  the  way  to  her  room.  I  could  only 
follow  the  leopard. 

At  first  furious,  he  gradually  became  used  to  tow- 
ing me.  He  strained  ahead,  belly  to  the  ground, 
with  snuffs  of  joy. 

Nothing  is  more  like  one  black  corridor  than  an- 
otlier  black  corridor.     Doubt  seized  me.     Suppose 


242  ATLANTIDA 

I  should  suddenly  find  myself  in  the  baccarat  room ! 
But  that  was  unjust  to  King  Hiram.  Barred  too 
long  from  the  dear  presence,  the  good  beast  was 
taking  me  exactly  where  I  wanted  him  to  take  me. 

Suddenly,  at  a  turn,  the  darkness  ahead  lifted. 
A  rose  window,  faintly  glimmering  red  and  green, 
appeared  before  us. 

The  leopard  stopped  with  a  low  growl  before  the 
door  in  which  the  rose  window  was  cut. 

I  recognized  it  as  the  door  through  which  the 
white  Targa  had  led  me  the  day  after  my  arrival, 
when  I  had  been  set  upon  by  King  Hiram,  when  I 
had  found  myself  in  the  presence  of  Antinea. 

"We  are  much  better  friends  to-day,"  I  said,  flat- 
tering him  so  that  he  would  not  give  a  dangerously 
loud  growl. 

I  tried  to  open  the  door.  The  light,  coming 
through  the  window,  fell  upon  the  floor,  green  and 
red. 

A  simple  latch,  which  I  turned.  I  shortened  the 
leash  to  have  better  control  of  King  Hiram  who  was 
getting  nervous. 

The  great  room  where  I  had  seen  Antinea  for 
the  first  time  was  completely  dark.  But  the  garden 
on  which  it  gave  shone  under  a  clouded  moon,  in  a 
sky  weighted  down  with  the  storm  which  did  not 
break.  Not  a  breath  of  air.  The  lake  gleamed  like 
a  sheet  of  pewter. 

I  seated  myself  on  a  cushion,  holding  the  leopard 


THE     SILVER     HAMMER     243 

firmly  between  my  knees.  He  was  purring  with  im- 
patience. I  was  thinking.  Not  about  my  goal.  For 
a  long  time  that  had  been  fixed.  But  about  the 
means. 

Then,  I  seemed  to  hear  a  distant  murmur,  a  faint 
sound  of  voices. 

King  Hiram  growled  louder,  struggled.  I  gave 
him  a  little  more  leash.  He  began  to  rub  along  the 
dark  walls  on  the  sides  whence  the  voices  seemed 
to  come.  I  followed  him,  stumbling  as  quietly  as  I 
could  among  the  scattered  cushions. 

My  eyes,  become  accustomed  to  the  darkness, 
could  see  the  pyramid  of  cushions  on  which  Antinea 
had  first  appeared  to  me. 

Suddenly  I  stumbled.  The  leopard  had  stopped. 
I  realized  that  I  had  stepped  on  his  tail.  Brave 
beast,  he  did  not  make  a  sound. 

Groping  along  the  wall,  I  felt  a  second  door. 
Quietly,  very  quietly,  I  opened  it  as  I  had  opened 
the  preceding  one.     The  leopard  whimpered  feebly. 

"King  Hiram,"  I  murmured,  "be  quiet." 

And  I  put  my  arms  about  his  powerful  neck. 

I  felt  his  warm  wet  tongue  on  my  hands.  His 
flanks  quivered.     He  shook  with  happiness. 

In  front  of  us,  lighted  in  the  center,  another  room 
opened  up.  In  the  middle  six  men  were  squatting  on 
the  matting,  playing  dice  and  drinking  coffee  from 
tiny  copper  coffee  cups  with  long  stems. 

They  were  the  white  Tuareg. 


244  ATLANTIDA 

A  lamp,  hung  from  the  ceiling,  threw  a  circle  of 
light  over  them.  Everything  outside  that  circle  was 
in  deep  shadow. 

The  black  faces,  the  copper  cups,  the  white  robes, 
the  moving  light  and  shadow,  made  a  strange  etch- 
ing. 

They  played  with  a  reserved  dignity,  announcing 
the  throws  in  raucous  voices. 

Then,  slowly,  very  slowly,  I  slipped  the  leash  from 
the  collar  of  the  impatient  little  beast. 

"Go,  boy." 

He  leapt  with  a  sharp  yelp. 

And  what  I  had  foreseen  happened. 

The  first  bound  of  King  Hiram  carried  him  into 
the  midst  of  the  white  Tuareg,  sowing  confusion  in 
the  bodyguard.  Another  leap  carried  him  into  the 
shadow  again.  I  made  out  vaguely  the  shaded  open- 
ing of  another  corridor  on  the  side  of  the  room  oppo- 
site where  I  was  standing. 

"There !"  I  thought. 

The  confusion  in  the  room  was  indescribable,  but 
noiseless.  One  realized  the  restraint  which  near- 
ness to  a  great  presence  imposed  upon  the  exasper- 
ated guards.  The  stakes  and  the  dice-boxes  had 
rolled  in  one  direction,  the  copper  cups,  in  the  other. 

Two  of  the  Tuareg,  doubled  up  with  pain,  were 
rubbing  their  ribs  with  low  oaths. 

I  need  not  say  that  I  profited  by  this  silent  con- 
fusion to  glide  into  the  room.     I  was  now  flattened 


THE     SILVER     1 1  A  M  M  E  K     245 

against  the  wall  of  the  second  corridor,  down  which 
King  Hiram  had  just  disappeared. 

At  that  moment  a  clear  gong  echoed  in  the  silence. 
The  trembling  which  seized  the  Tuareg  assured  me 
that  I  had  chosen  the  right  way. 

One  of  the  six  men  got  up.  He  passed  me  and  I 
fell  in  behind  him.  I  was  perfectly  calm.  My  least 
movement  was  perfectly  calculated. 

"All  that  I  risk  here  nows"  I  said  to  myself,  "is 
being  led  back  politely  to  my  room." 

The  Targa  lifted  a  curtain.  I  followed  on  his 
heels  into  the  chamber  of  Antinea. 

The  room  was  huge  and  at  once  well  lighted  and 
very  dark.  While  the  right  half,  where  Antinea 
w^as,  gleamed  under  shaded  lamps,  the  left  was  dim. 

Those  w^ho  have  penetrated  into  a  Mussulman 
home  know  what  a  gu'ignol  is,  a  kind  of  square  niche 
in  the  wall,  four  feet  from  the  floor,  its  opening  cov- 
ered by  a  curtain.  One  mounts  to  it  by  wooden 
steps.  I  noticed  such  a  guignol  at  my  left.  I  crept 
into  it.  My  pulses  beat  in  the  shadow.  But  I  was 
calm,  quite  calm. 

There  I  could  see  and  hear  everything. 

I  was  in  Antinea's  chamber.  There  was  nothing 
singular  about  the  room,  except  the  great  luxury  of 
the  hangings.  The  ceiling  was  in  shadow,  but  multi- 
colored lanterns  cast  a  vague  and  gentle  light  over 
gleaming  stuffs  and  furs. 

Antinea  was  stretched  out  on  a  lion's  skin,  smok- 


246  ATLANTIDA 

ing.  A  little  silver  tray  and  pitcher  lay  beside  her. 
King  Hiram  was  flattened  out  at  her  feet,  licking 
them  madly. 

The  Targa  slave  stood  rigid  before  her,  one 
hand  on  his  heart,  the  other  on  his  forehead, 
saluting. 

Antinea  spoke  in  a  hard  voice,  without  looking 
at  the  man. 

"Why  did  you  let  the  leopard  pass?  I  told  you 
that  I  wanted  to  be  alone." 

"He  knocked  us  over,  mistress,"  said  the  Targa 
humbly. 

"The  doors  were  not  closed,  then?" 

The  slave  did  not  answer. 

"Shall  I  take  him  away?"  he  asked. 

And  his  eyes,  fastened  upon  King  Hiram  who 
stared  at  him  maliciously,  expressed  well  enough  his 
desire  for  a  negative  reply. 

"Let  him  stay  since  he  is  here,"  said  Antinea. 

She  tapped  nervously  on  the  little  silver  tray. 

"What  is  the  captain  doing?"  she  asked. 

"He  dined  a  while  ago  and  seemed  to  enjoy  his 
food,"  the  Targa  answered. 

"Has  he  said  nothing?" 

"Yes,  he  asked  to  see  his  companion,  the  other 
officer." 

Antinea  tapped  the  little  tray  still  more  rapidly. 

"Did  he  say  nothing  else?" 

"No,  mistress,"  said  the  man. 


THE     SILVER     HAMMER     247 

A  pallor  overspread  the  Atlantide's  little  fore- 
head. 

"Go  get  him,"  she  said  brusquely. 

Bowing,  the  Targa  left  the  room. 

I  listened  to  this  dialogue  with  great  anxiety.  Was 
this  Morhange?  Had  he  been  faithful  to  me,  after 
all?  Had  I  suspected  him  unjustly?  He  had 
wanted  to  see  me  and  been  unable  to! 

My  eyes  never  left  Antinea's. 

She  was  no  longer  the  haughty,  mocking  princess 
of  our  first  interview.  She  no  longer  wore  the  golden 
circlet  on  her  forehead.  Not  a  bracelet,  not  a  ring. 
She  was  dressed  only  in  a  full  flowing  tunic.  Her 
black  hair,  unbound,  lay  in  masses  of  ebony  over  her 
slight  shoulders  and  her  bare  arms. 

Her  beautiful  eyes  were  deep  circled.  Her  di- 
vine mouth  drooped.  I  did  not  know  whether  I  was 
glad  or  sorry  to  see  this  new  quivering  Cleopatra. 

Flattened  at  her  feet,  King  Hiram  gazed  submis- 
sively at  her. 

An  immense  orichalch  mirror  with  golden  reflec- 
tions was  set  into  the  wall  at  the  right.  Suddenly 
she  raised  herself  erect  before  it.     I  saw  her  nude. 

A  splendid  and  bitter  sight! — A  woman  who 
thinks  herself  alone,  standing  before  her  mirror  in 
expectation  of  the  man  she  wishes  to  subdue ! 

The  six  incense-burners  scattered  about  the  room 
sent  up  invisible  columns  of  perfume.  The  balsam 
spices  of  Arabia  wore  floating  webs  in  which  my 


248  ATLANTIDA 

shameless  senses  were  entangled.  .  .  .  And,  back 
toward  me,  standing  straight  as  a  lily,  Antinea 
smiled  into  her  mirror. 

Low  steps  sounded  in  the  corridor.  Antinea  im- 
mediately fell  back  into  the  nonchalant  pose  in  which 
I  had  first  seen  her.  One  had  to  see  such  a  transfor- 
mation to  believe  it  possible. 

Morhange  entered  the  room,  preceded  by  a  white 
Targa. 

He,  too,  seemed  rather  pale.  But  I  was  most 
struck  by  the  expression  of  serene  peace  on  that  face 
which  I  thought  I  knew  so  well.  I  felt  that  I  never 
had  understood  what  manner  of  man  Morhange 
was,  never. 

He  stood  erect  before  Antinea  without  seeming 
to  notice  her  gesture  inviting  him  to  be  seated. 

She  smiled  at  him. 

"You  are  surprised,  perhaps,"  she  said  finally, 
"that  I  should  send  for  you  at  so  late  an  hour." 

Morhange  did  not  move  an  eyelash. 

"Have  you  considered  it  well?"  she  demanded. 

Morhange  smiled  gravely,  but  did  not  reply. 

I  could  read  in  Antinea's  face  the  effort  it  cost 
her  to  continue  smiling;  I  admired  the  self-control 
of  these  two  beings. 

"I  sent  for  you,"  she  continued.  "You  do  not 
guess  why?  .  .  .  Well,  it  is  to  tell  you  something 
that  you  do  not  expect.  It  will  be  no  surprise  to  you 
if  I  say  that  I  never  met  a  man  like  you.     During 


THE     SILVER     HAMMER     249 


your  captivity,  you  have  expressed  only  one  wish. 
Do  you  recall  it?" 

"I  asked  your  permission  to  see  my  friend  before 
I  died,"  said  Morhange  simply. 

I  do  not  know  what  stirred  mc  more  on  hearing 
these  words:  delight  at  Morhange's  formal  tone  in 
speaking  to  Antinea,  or  emotion  at  hearing  the  one 
wish  he  had  expressed. 

But  Antinea  continued  calmly: 

"That  is  why  I  sent  for  you — to  tell  you  that 
you  are  going  to  see  him  again.  And  I  am  going 
to  do  something  else.  You  will  perhaps  scorn  me 
even  more  when  you  realize  that  you  had  only  to 
oppose  me  to  bend  me  to  your  will — T,  who  have 
bent  all  other  wills  to  mine.  But,  however  that  may 
be,  it  is  decided :  I  give  you  both  your  liberty.  To- 
morrow Cegheir-ben-Cheikh  will  lead  you  past  the 
fifth  enclosure.     Are  you  satisfied?" 

"I  am,"  said  Morhange  with  a  mocking  smile. 

"That  will  give  me  a  chance,"  he  continued,  "to 
make  better  plans  for  the  next  trip  I  intend  to  make 
this  way.  For  you  need  not  doubt  that  I  shall  feel 
bound  to  return  to  express  my  gratitude.  Only,  next 
time,  to  render  so  great  a  queen  the  honors  due  her, 
I  shall  ask  my  government  to  furnish  me  with  two 
or  three  hundred  European  soldiers  and  several 
cannon." 

Antinea  was  standing  up,  very  pale. 

"What  are  you  saying?" 


250  ATLANTIDA 

"I  am  saying,"  said  Morhange  coldly,   "that  I 
foresaw  this.     First  threats,  then  promises." 

Antinea  stepped  toward  him.  He  had  folded  his 
arms.     He  looked  at  her  with  a  sort  of  grave  pity. 

"I  will  make  you  die  in  the  most  atrocious  ago- 
nies," she  said  finally. 

"I  am  your  prisoner,"  Morhange  replied. 

"You  shall  suffer  things  that  you  cannot  even  imag- 
me. 

"I  am  your  prisoner,"  repeated  Morhange  in  the 
same  sad  calm. 

Antinea  paced  the  room  like  a  beast  In  a  cage. 
She  advanced  toward  my  companion  and,  no  longer 
mistress  of  herself,  struck  him  in  the  face. 

He  smiled  and  caught  hold  of  her,  drawing  her 
little  wrists  together  with  a  strange  mixture  of  force 
and  gentleness. 

King  Hiram  growled.  I  thought  he  was  about  to 
leap.  But  the  cold  eyes  of  Morhange  held  him  fas- 
cinated. 

"I  will  have  your  comrade  killed  before  your 
eyes,"  gasped  Antinea. 

It  seemed  to  me  that  Morhange  paled,  but  only 
for  a  second.  I  was  overcome  by  the  nobility  and 
insight  of  his  reply. 

"My  companion  is  brave.  He  does  not  fear 
death.  And,  in  any  case,  he  would  prefer  death  to 
life  purchased  at  the  price  you  name." 

So  saying,  he  let  go  Antinea's  wrists.    Her  pallor 


THE     SILVER     HAMMER     251 

was  terrible.     From  the  expression  of  her  mouth  I 
felt  that  this  would  be  her  last  word  to  him. 

"Listen,"  she  said. 

How  beautiful  she  was,  in  her  scorned  majesty, 
her  beauty  powerless  for  the  first  time! 

"Listen,"  she  continued.  "Listen.  For  the  last 
time.  Remember  that  I  hold  the  gates  of  this  palace, 
that  I  have  supreme  power  over  your  life.  Remem- 
ber that  you  breathe  only  at  my  pleasure.  Remem- 
ber .  .  ." 

"I  have  remembered  all  that,"  said  Morhange. 

"A  last  time,"  she  repeated. 

The  serenity  of  Morhange's  face  was  so  power- 
ful that  I  scarcely  noticed  his  opponent.  In  that 
transfigured  countenance,  no  trace  of  worldliness  re- 
mained. 

"A  last  time,"  came  Antinea's  voice,  almost  break- 
ing. 

Morhange  was  not  ev^n  looking  at  her. 

"As  you  will,"  she  said. 

Her  gong  resounded.  She  had  struck  the  silver 
disc.     The  white  Targa  appeared. 

"Leave  the  room  I" 

Morhange,  his  head  held  high,  went  out. 

Now  Antinea  is  in  my  arms.  This  is  no  haughty, 
voluptuous  woman  whom  I  am  pressing  to  my  heart. 
It  is  only  an  unhappy,  scorned  little  girl. 

So  great  was  her  trouble  that  she  showed  no  sur- 


252  ATLANTIDA 

prise  when  I  stepped  out  beside  her.  Her  head  is 
on  my  shoulder.  Like  the  crescent  moon  in  the 
black  clouds,  I  see  her  clear  little  bird-like  profile 
amid  her  mass  of  hair.  Her  warm  arms  hold  me 
convulsively.  ...  0  tremblant  coeiir  humain.  .  .  . 
Who  could  resist  such  an  embrace,  amid  the  soft 
perfumes,  in  the  langorous  night?  I  feel  myself  a 
being  without  will.  Is  this  my  voice,  the  voice  which 
is  murmuring: 

"Ask  me  what  you  will,  and  I  will  do  it,  I  will 
do  it." 

My  senses  are  sharpened,  tenfold  keen.  My  head 
rests  against  a  soft,  nervous  little  knee.  Clouds  of 
odors  whirl  about  me.  Suddenly  It  seems  as  if  the 
golden  lanterns  are  waving  from  the  ceiling  like 
giant  censers.  Is  this  my  voice,  the  voice  repeating 
in  a  dream : 

"Ask  me  what  you  will,  and  I  will  do  it.     I  will 
do  it." 

Antinea's  face  is  almost  touching  mine.  A  strange 
light  flickers  in  her  great  eyes. 

Beyond,  I  see  the  gleaming  eyes  of  King  Hiram. 
Beside  him,  there  is  a  little  table  of  Kairouan,  blue 
and  gold.  On  that  table  I  see  the  gong  with  which 
Antinea  summons  the  slaves.  I  see  the  hammer  with 
which  she  struck  it  just  now,  a  hammer  with  a  long 
ebony  handle,  a  heavy  silver  head  .  .  .  the  hammer 
with  which  little  Lieutenant  Kaine  dealt  death.  .  .  . 
I  see  nothing  more.  .  .  . 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  MAIDENS  OF  THE  ROCKS 

I  AWAKENED  In  my  room.  The  sun,  already  at 
its  zenith,  filled  the  place  with  unbearable  light  and 
heat. 

The  first  thing  I  saw,  on  opening  my  eyes,  was 
the  shade,  ripped  down,  lying  in  the  middle  of  the 
floor.  Then,  confusedly,  the  night's  events  began 
to  come  back  to  me. 

My  head  felt  stupid  and  heavy.  My  mind  wan- 
dered. My  memory  seemed  blocked.  "I  went  out 
with  the  leopard,  that  is  certain.  That  red  mark  on 
my  forefinger  shows  how  he  strained  at  the  leash. 
My  knees  are  still  dusty.  I  remember  creeping  along 
the  wall  in  the  room  where  the  white  Tuareg  were 
playing  at  dice.  That  was  the  minute  after  King 
Hiram  had  leapt  past  them.  After  that  .  .  .  oh, 
Morhange  and  Antinea.  ,  .   .  And  then?" 

I  recalled  nothing  more.  T  recalled  nothing  more. 
But  something  must  have  happened,  something  which 
I  could  not  remember. 

I  was  uneasy.  I  wanted  to  go  back,  yet  it  seemed 
253 


254  ATLANTIDA 

as  if  I  were  afraid  to  go.  I  have  never  felt  any- 
thing more  painful  than  those  conflicting  emotions. 

"It  is  a  long  way  from  here  to  Antinea's  apart- 
ments. I  must  have  been  very  sound  asleep  not  to 
have  noticed  when  they  brought  me  back — for  they 
have  brought  me  back." 

I  stopped  trying  to  think  it  out.  My  head  ached 
too  much. 

"I  must  have  air,"  I  murmured.  "I  am  roasting 
here;  it  will  drive  me  mad." 

I  had  to  see  someone,  no  matter  whom.  Mechan- 
ically, I  walked  toward  the  library. 

I  found  M.  Le  Mesge  in  a  transport  of  delirious 
joy.  The  Professor  was  engaged  in  opening  an 
enormous  bale,  carefully  sewed  in  a  brown  blanket. 

"You  come  at  a  good  time,  sir,"  he  cried,  on  seeing 
me  enter.     "The  magazines  have  just  arrived." 

He  dashed  about  in  feverish  haste.  Presently  a 
stream  of  pamphlets  and  magazines,  blue,  green, 
yellow  and  salmon,  was  bursting  from  an  opening  in 
the  bale. 

"Splendid,  splendid  I"  he  cried,  dancing  with  joy. 
"Not  too  late,  either;  here  are  the  numbers  for 
October  fifteenth.  We  must  give  a  vote  of  thanks 
to  good  Ameur." 

His  good  spirits  were  contagious. 

"There  is  a  good  Turkish  merchant  who  sub- 
scribes to  all  the  interesting  magazines  of  the  two 
continents.     He  sends  them  on  by  Rhadames  to  a 


THE  MAIDENS  OF  THE  ROCKS     255 

destination  which  he  little  suspects.  Ah,  here  arc 
the  French  ones." 

M.  Le  Mesge  ran  feverishly  over  the  tables  of 
contents. 

"Internal  politics:  articles  by  Francis  Charmes, 
Anatole  Leroy-Beaulieu,  d'Maussonville  on  the 
Czar's  trip  to  Paris.  Look,  a  study  by  Avenel  of 
wages  in  the  Middle  Ages.  And  verse,  verses  of  the 
young  poets,  Fernand  Gregh,  Edmond  Haraucourt. 
Ah,  the  resume  of  a  book  by  Henry  de  Castries  on 
Islam.  That  may  be  interesting.  .  .  .  Take  what 
you  please." 

Joy  makes  people  amiable  and  M.  Le  Mesge  was 
really  delirious  with  it. 

A  puff  of  breeze  came  from  the  window.  I  went 
to  the  balustrade  and,  resting  my  elbows  on  it,  began 
to  run  through  a  number  of  the  Revue  des  Deux 
Mondes. 

I  did  not  read,  but  flipped  over  the  pages,  my  eyes 
now  on  the  lines  of  swarming  little  black  characters, 
now  on  the  rocky  basin  which  lay  shivering,  pale 
pink,  under  the  declining  sun. 

Suddenly  my  attention  became  fixed.  There  was 
a  strange  coincidence  between  the  text  and  the  land- 
scape. 

"In  the  sky  overhead  were  only  light  shreds  of 
cloud,  like  bits  of  white  ash  floating  up  from  burnt- 
out  logs.  The  sun  fell  over  a  circle  of  rocky  peaks, 
silhouetting  their  severe  lines  against  the  azure  sky. 


256  ATLANTIDA 

From  on  high,  a  great  sadness  and  gentleness  poured 
down  Into  the  lonely  enclosure,  lij^e  a  magic  drink 
into  a  deep  cup.   .   .   ."^ 

I  turned  the  pages  fev^erishly.  My  mind  seemed 
to  be  clearing. 

Behind  me,  M.  Le  Mesge,  deep  in  an  article, 
voiced  his  opinions  in  indignant  growls. 

I  continued  reading: 

"On  all  sides  a  magnificent  view  spread  out  be- 
fore us  in  the  raw  light.  The  chain  of  rocks,  clearly 
visible  in  their  barren  desolation  which  stretched  to 
the  very  summit,  lay  stretched  out  like  some  great 
heap  of  gigantic,  unformed  things  left  by  some  prim- 
ordial race  of  Titans  to  stupefy  human  beings. 
Overturned  towers  .   .  ." 

"It  is  shameful,  downright  shameful,"  the  Profes- 
sor was  repeating. 

"Overturned  towers,  crumbling  citadels,  cupolas 
fallen  in,  broken  pillars,  mutilated  colossi,  prows  of 
vessels,  thighs  of  monsters,  bones  of  titans, — this 
mass,  impassable  with  its  ridges  and  gullies,  seemed 
the  embodiment  of  everything  huge  and  tragic.  So 
clear  were  the  distances  .  .  ." 

"Downright  shameful,"  M.  Le  Mesge  kept  on 
saying  In  exasperation,  thumping  his  fist  on  the  table. 

"So  clear  were  the  distances  that  I  could  see,  as  if 
I  had  It  under  my  eyes,   infinitely  enlarged,   every 

1  Gabrielle  d'Annunzio :  Les  Vierges  aux  Rochers.  Ci.  The 
Revue  des  Deux  Mondes  of  October  15,  1896;  page  867. 


THE  MAIDENS  OF    FIIE  ROCKS     257 

contour  of  the  rock  whicli  Violante  had  shown  me 
through  the  window  with  the  gesture  of  a  creator. 

Trembling,  I  closed  the  magazine.  At  my  feet, 
now  red,  I  sa\v  the  rock  which  Antinea  had  pointed 
out  to  me  the  day  of  our  first  interview,  huge,  steep, 
overhanging  the  reddish  brown  garden. 

"That  is  my  horizon,"  she  had  said. 

M.  Le  Mesge's  excitement  had  passed  all  bounds. 

"It  is  worse  than  shameful;  it  is  infamous." 

I  almost  wanted  to  strangle  him  into  silence.  He 
seized  my  arm. 

"Read  that,  sir;  and,  although  you  don't  know  a 
great  deal  about  the  subject,  you  w^ill  see  that  this 
article  on  Roman  Africa  is  a  miracle  of  misinforma- 
tion, a  monument  of  ignorance.  And  it  Is  signed  .  .  . 
do  you  know  by  whom  it  Is  signed?" 

"Leave  me  alone,"  I  said  brutally. 

"Well,  it  is  signed  Gaston  Bolssier.  Yes,  sir! 
Gaston  Bolssier,  grand  officer  of  the  Legion  of 
Honor,  lecturer  at  the  Ecole  Normale  Superieure, 
permanent  secretary  of  the  French  Academy,  mem- 
ber of  the  Academy  of  Inscriptions  and  Literature, 
one  of  those  who  once  ruled  out  the  subject  of  my 
thesis  .  .  .  one  of  those  .  .  .  ah,  poor  university, 
ah,  poor  France !" 

I  was  no  longer  listening.  I  had  begun  to  read 
again.  My  forehead  was  covered  with  sweat.  But 
it  seemed  as  if  my  head  had  been  cleared  like  a  room 


258  ATLANTIDA 

when  a  window  is  opened;  memories  were  beginning 
to  come  back  like  doves  winging  their  way  home  to 
the  dovecote. 

"At  that  moment,  an  irrepressible  tremor  shook 
her  whole  body;  her  eyes  dilated  as  if  some  terrible 
sight  had  filled  them  with  horror. 

"  'Antonello,'  she  murmured. 

"And  for  seconds,  she  was  unable  to  say  another 
word. 

"I  looked  at  her  in  mute  anguish  and  the  suffer- 
ing which  drew  her  dear  lips  together  seemed  also  to 
clutch  at  my  heart.  The  vision  which  was  in  her 
eyes  passed  into  mine,  and  I  saw  again  the  thin  white 
face  of  Antonello,  and  the  quick  quivering  of  his 
eyelids,  the  waves  of  agony  which  seized  his  long 
worn  body  and  shook  it  like  a  reed." 

I  threw  the  magazine  upon  the  table. 

"That  is  it,"  I  said. 

To  cut  the  pages,  I  had  used  the  knife  with  which 
M.  Le  Mesge  had  cut  the  cords  of  the  bale,  a  short 
ebony-handled  dagger,  one  of  those  daggers  that  the 
Tuareg  wear  in  a  bracelet  sheath  against  the  upper 
left  arm. 

I  slipped  it  into  the  big  pocket  of  my  flannel  dol- 
man and  walked  toward  the  door. 

I  was  about  to  cross  the  threshold  when  I  heard 
M.  Lc  Mesge  call  me. 

"Monsieur  de  Saint  Avit!  Monsieur  de  Saint 
AvitI" 


THE  MAIDENS  OF  THE  ROCKS     259 

"I  want  to  ask  you  something,  please." 

"What  is  it?" 

"Nothing  important.  You  know  that  I  have  to 
mark  the  labels  for  the  red  marble  hall.   .  .  ." 

I  walked  toward  the  table. 

"Well,  I  forgot  to  ask  M.  Morhange,  at  the  be- 
ginning, the  date  and  place  of  his  birth.  After  that, 
I  had  no  chance.  I  did  not  see  him  again.  So  I 
am  forced  to  turn  to  you.    Perhaps  you  can  tell  me?" 

"I  can,"  I  said  very  calmly. 

He  took  a  large  white  card  from  a  box  which  con- 
tained several  and  dipped  his  pen. 

"Number  54  .  .  .  Captain?" 

"Captain  Jean-Marie-Frangois  Morhange." 

While  I  dictated,  one  hand  resting  on  the  table,  I 
noticed  on  my  cuff  a  stain,  a  little  stain,  reddish 
brown. 

"Morhange,"  repeated  M.  Le  Mesge,  finishing 
the  lettering  of  my  friend's  name.    "Born  at  ,  .  .  ?" 

"Villefranche." 

"Villefranche,  Rhone.    What  date?" 

"The  fourteenth  of  October,  1859." 

"The  fourteenth  of  October,  1859.  Good.  Died 
at  Ahaggar,  the  fifth  of  January,  1897.  .  .  .  There, 
that  is  done.  A  thousand  thanks,  sir,  for  your  kind- 
ness." 

"You  are  welcome." 

I  left  M.  Le  Mesge. 


26o  ATLANTIDA 

My  mind,  thenceforth,  was  well  made  up;  and, 
as  I  said,  I  was  perfectly  calm.  Nevertheless,  when 
I  had  taken  leave  of  M.  Le  Mesge,  I  felt  the  need 
of  waiting  a  few  minutes  before  executing  my  de- 
cision. 

First  I  wandered  through  the  corridors;  then, 
finding  myself  near  my  room,  I  went  to  It.  It  was 
still  Intolerably  hot.  I  sat  down  on  my  divan  and 
began  to  think. 

The  dagger  in  my  pocket  bothered  me.  I  took  it 
out  and  laid  it  on  the  floor. 

It  was  a  good  dagger,  with  a  diamond-shaped 
blade,  and  with  a  collar  of  orange  leather  between 
the  blade  and  the  handle. 

The  sight  of  it  recalled  the  silver  hammer.  I  re- 
membered how  easily  it  fitted  into  my  hand  when  I 
struck  .  .  . 

Every  detail  of  the  scene  came  back  to  me  with 
Incomparable  vividness.  But  I  did  not  even  shiver. 
It  seemed  as  if  my  determination  to  kill  the  instiga- 
tor of  the  murder  permitted  me  peacefully  to  evoke 
its  brutal  details. 

If  I  reflected  over  my  deed,  it  was  to  be  surprised 
at  It,  not  to  condemn  myself. 

"Well,"  I  said  to  myself,  "I  have  killed  this  Mor- 
hange,  who  was  once  a  baby,  who,  like  all  the  oth- 
ers, cost  his  mother  so  much  trouble  with  his  baby 
sicknesses.  I  have  put  an  end  to  his  life,  I  have 
reduced  to  nothingness  the  monument  of  love,  of 


THE  MAIDENS  OF  THE  ROCKS     261 

tears,  of  trials  overcome  and  pitfalls  escaped,  which 
constitutes  a  human  existence.  What  an  extraordi- 
nary adventure!" 

That  was  all.  No  fear,  no  remorse,  none  of  that 
Shakespearean  horror  after  the  murder,  which,  to- 
day, sceptic  though  I  am  and  blase  and  utterly,  ut- 
terly disillusioned,  sets  me  shuddering  whenever  I 
am  alone  In  a  dark  room. 

"Come,"  I  thought.     "It's  time.    Time  to  finish  it 

up." 

I  picked  up  the  dagger.  Before  putting  it  in  my 
pocket,  I  went  through  the  motion  of  striking.  All 
was  well.     The  dagger  fitted  into  my  hand. 

I  had  been  through  Antlnea's  apartment  only 
when  guided,  the  first  time  by  the  white  Targa,  the 
second  time,  by  the  leopard.  Yet  I  found  the 
way  again  without  trouble.  Just  before  com- 
ing to  the  door  with  the  rose  window,  I  met  a 
Targa. 

"Let  me  pass,"  I  ordered.  "Your  mistress  has 
sent  for  me." 

The  man  obeyed,  stepping  back. 

Soon  a  dim  melody  came  to  my  ears.  I  recog- 
nized the  sound  of  a  rebaza,  the  violin  with  a  single 
string,  played  by  the  Tuareg  women.  It  was  Aguida 
playing,  squatting  as  usual  at  the  feet  of  her  mistress. 
The  three  other  women  were  also  squatted  about 
her.     Tanit-Zerga  was  not  there. 

Oh!     Since  that  was  the  last  time  I  saw  her,  let, 


262  ATLANTIDA 

oh,  let  me  tell  you  of  Antinea,  how  she  looked  in 
that  supreme  moment. 

Did  she  feel  the  danger  hovering  over  her  and 
did  she  wish  to  brave  it  by  her  surest  artifices?  I 
had  in  mind  the  slender,  unadorned  body,  without 
rings,  without  jewels,  which  I  had  pressed  to  my 
heart  the  night  before.  And  now  I  started  in  sur- 
prise at  seeing  before  me,  adorned  like  an  idol,  not 
a  woman,  but  a  queen ! 

The  heavy  splendor  of  the  Pharaohs  weighted 
down  her  slender  body.  On  her  head  was  the  great 
gold  pschent  of  Egyptian  gods  and  kings ;  emeralds, 
the  national  stone  of  the  Tuareg,  were  set  in  it,  trac- 
ing and  retracing  her  name  in  Tifinar  characters.  A 
red  satin  schenti,  embroidered  in  golden  lotus,  en- 
veloped her  like  the  casket  of  a  jewel.  At  her  feet, 
lay  an  ebony  scepter,  headed  with  a  trident.  Her 
bare  arms  were  encircled  by  two  serpents  whose 
fangs  touched  her  armpits  as  if  to  bury  themselves 
there.  From  the  ear  pieces  of  the  pschent  streamed 
a  necklace  of  emeralds;  its  first  strand  passed  under 
her  determined  chin;  the  others  lay  in  circles  against 
her  bare  throat. 

She  smiled  as  I  entered. 

*'I  was  expecting  you,"  she  said  simply. 

I  advanced  till  I  was  four  steps  from  the  throne, 
then  stopped  before  her. 

She  looked  at  me  ironically. 

"What  is  that?"  she  asked  with  perfect  calm. 


THE  MAIDENS  OF  THE  ROCKS     263 

I  followed  her  gesture.  The  handle  of  the  dagger 
protruded  from  my  pocket. 

I  drew  it  out  and  held  it  firmly  in  my  hand,  ready 
to  strike. 

"The  first  of  you  who  moves  will  be  sent  naked 
six  leagues  into  the  red  desert  and  left  there  to  die," 
said  Antinea  coldly  to  her  women,  whom  my  gesture 
had  thrown  into  a  frightened  murmuring. 

She  turned  to  me. 

"That  dagger  is  very  ugly  and  you  hold  it  badly. 
Shall  I  send  Sydya  to  my  room  to  get  the  silver  ham- 
mer? You  are  more  adroit  with  it  than  with  the 
dagger." 

"Antinea,"  I  said  in  a  low  voice,  "I  am  going  to 
kill  you." 

"Do  not  speak  so  formally.  You  were  more  af- 
fectionate last  night.  Are  you  embarrassed  by 
them?"  she  said,  pointing  to  the  women,  whose  eyes 
were  wide  with  terror. 

"Kill  me?"  she  went  on.  "You  are  hardly  reason- 
able. Kill  me  at  the  moment  when  you  can  reap  the 
fruits  of  the  murder  of  .   .  ." 

"Did — did  he  sufl^er?"  I  asked  suddenly,  tremb- 
ling. 

"Very  little.  I  told  you  that  you  used  the  hammer 
as  if  you  had  done  nothing  else  all  your  life." 

"Like  little  Kaine,"  I  murmured. 

She  smiled  in  surprise. 

"Oh,  you  know  that  story.  .  .  .  Yes,  like  little 


264  ATLANTIDA 

Kaine.  But  at  least  Kaine  was  sensible.  You  .  .  . 
I  do  not  understand." 

"I  do  not  understand  myself,  very  well." 

She  looked  at  me  with  amused  curiosity. 

"Antinea,"  I  said. 

"What  is  it?" 

"I  did  what  you  told  me  to.  May  I  in  turn  ask 
one  favor,  ask  you  one  question?" 

'•What  is  it?" 

"It  was  dark,  was  it  not,  in  the  room  where  he 
was?" 

"Very  dark.  I  had  to  lead  you  to  the  bed  where 
he  lay  asleep." 

"He  was  asleep,  you  are  sure?" 

"I  said  so." 

"He — did  not  die  instantly,  did  he?" 

"No.  I  know  exactly  when  he  died;  two  minutes 
after  you  struck  him  and  fled  with  a  shriek." 

"Then  surely  he  could  not  have  known?" 

"Known  what?" 

"That  it  was  I  who — who  held  the  hammer." 

"He  might  not  have  known  it,  indeed,"  said  An- 
tinea.    "But  he  did  know." 

"How?" 

"He  did  know  .  .  .  because  I  told  him,"  she  said, 
staring  at  me  with  magnificent  audacity. 

"And,"  I  murmured,  "he — he  believed  it?" 

"With  the  help  of  my  explanation,  he  recognized 
your  shriek.     If  he  had  not  realized  that  you  were 


THE  MAIDENS  OF  THE  ROCKS     265 

his  murderer,  the  affair  would  not  have  interested 
me,"  she  finished  with  a  scornful  little  smile. 

Four  steps,  I  said,  separated  me  from  Antinea. 
I  sprang  forward.  But,  before  I  reached  her,  I 
was  struck  to  the  floor. 

King  Iliram  had  leapt  at  my  throat. 

At  the  same  moment  I  heard  the  calm,  haughty 
voice  of  Antinea : 

*'CalI  the  men,"  she  commanded. 

A  second  later  I  was  released  from  the  leopard's 
clutch.  The  six  white  Tuareg  had  surrounded  me 
and  were  trying  to  bind  me. 

I  am  fairly  strong  and  quick.  T  was  on  my  feet 
In  a  second.  One  of  my  enemies  lay  on  the  floor,  ten 
feet  away,  felled  by  a  well-placed  blow  on  the  jaw. 
Another  was  gasping  under  my  knee.  That  was  the 
last  time  I  saw  Antinea.  She  stood  erect,  both  hands 
resting  on  her  ebony  scepter,  watching  the  struggle 
with  a  smile  of  contemptuous  interest. 

Suddenly  I  gave  a  loud  ci-y  and  loosed  the  hold 
I  had  on  my  victim.  A  cracking  in  my  left  arm :  one 
of  the  Tuareg  had  seized  it  and  twisted  until  my 
shoulder  was  dislocated. 

When  I  completely  lost  consciousness,  I  was  being 
carried  down  the  corridor  by  two  white  phantoms, 
so  bound  that  I  could  not  move  a  muscle. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 


THE    FIRE-FLIES 


Through  the  great  open  window,  waves  of  pale 
moonlight  surged  into  my  room. 

A  slender  white  figure  was  standing  beside  the 
bed  where  I  lay. 

"You,  Tanit-Zerga !"  I  murmured.  She  laid  a 
finger  on  her  lips. 

*'ShI    Yes,  it  is  I." 

I  tried  to  raise  myself  up  on  the  bed.  A  terrible 
pain  seized  my  shoulder.  The  events  of  the  after- 
noon came  back  to  my  poor  harassed  mind. 

"Oh,  little  one,  if  you  knew!" 

"I  know,"  she  said. 

I  was  weaker  than  a  baby.  After  the  overstrain 
of  the  day  had  come  a  fit  of  utter  nervous  depres- 
sion.   A  lump  rose  in  my  throat,  choking  me. 

"If  you  knew,  if  you  only  knew!  .  .  .  Take  me 
away,  little  one.    Get  me  away  from  here." 

"Not  so  loud,"  she  whispered.  "There  is  a  white 
Targa  on  guard  at  the  door." 

"Take  me  away;  save  me,"  I  repeated 
266 


THE     FIRE-FLIES  267 

"That  is  what  I  came  for,"  she  said  simply. 

I  looked  at  her.  She  no  longer  was  wearing  her 
beautiful  red  silk  tunic.  A  plain  white  haik  was 
wrapped  about  her;  and  she  had  drawn  one  comer 
of  it  over  her  head. 

"I  want  to  go  away,  too,"  she  said  in  a  smothered 
voice.  "For  a  long  time,  I  have  wanted  to  go  away. 
I  want  to  see  Gao,  the  village  on  the  bank  of  the 
river,  and  the  blue  gum  trees,  and  the  green  water. 

"Ever  since  I  came  here,  I  have  wanted  to  get 
away,"  she  repeated,  "but  I  am  too  little  to  go  alone 
into  the  great  Sahara.  I  never  dared  speak  to  the 
others  who  came  here  before  you.  They  all  thought 
only  of  her.  .  .  .  But  you,  you  wanted  to  kill  her." 

I  gave  a  low  moan. 

"You  are  suffering,"  she  said.  "They  broke  your 
arm. 

"Dislocated  it  anyhow." 

"Let  me  see." 

With  infinite  gentleness,  she  passed  her  smooth 
little  hands  over  my  shoulder. 

"You  tell  me  that  there  is  a  white  Targa  on  guard 
before  my  door,  Tanit-Zerga,"  I  said.  "Then  how 
did  you  get  in?" 

"That  way,"  she  said,  pointing  to  the  window. 
A  dark  perpendicular  line  halved  its  blue  open- 
ing. 

Tanit-Zerga  went  to  the  window.  I  saw  her 
standing  erect  on  the  sill.     A  knife  shone  in  her 


268  ATLANTIDA 

hands.     She  cut  the  rope  at  the  top  of  the  opening. 
It  shpped  down  to  the  stone  with  a  dry  sound. 

She  came  back  to  me. 

"How  can  we  escape?"  I  asked. 

"That  way,"  she  repeated,  and  she  pointed  again 
at  the  window. 

I  leaned  out.  My  feverish  gaze  fell  upon  the 
shadowy  depths,  searching  for  those  invisible  rocks, 
the  rocks  upon  which  little  Kaine  had  dashed  him- 
self. 

"That  way!"  I  exclaimed,  shuddering.  "Why, 
it  is  two  hundred  feet  from  here  to  the  ground." 

"The  rope  is  two  hundred  and  fifty,"  she  replied. 
"It  is  a  good  strong  rope  which  I  stole  in  the  oasis; 
they  used  it  in  felling  trees.     It  is  quite  new." 

"Climb  down  that  way,  Tanit-Zerga!  With  my 
shoulder!" 

"I  will  let  you  down,"  she  said  firmly.  "Feel  how 
strong  my  arms  are.  Not  that  I  shall  rest  your 
weight  on  them.  But  see,  on  each  side  of  the  window 
is  a  marble  column.  By  twisting  the  rope  around 
one  of  them,  I  can  let  you  slip  down  and  scarcely 
feel  your  weight. 

"And  look,"  she  continued,  "I  have  made  a  big 
knot  every  ten  feet.  I  can  stop  the  rope  with  them, 
every  now  and  then,  if  I  want  to  rest." 

"And  you?"  I  asked. 

"When  you  are  down,  I  shall  tie  the  rope  to  one 
oi  the  columns  and  follow.    Tliere  are  the  knots  on 


THE     F  I  R  E  -  F  L  I  E  S  269 

which  to  rest  if  the  rope  cuts  my  hands  too  much. 
But  don't  be  afraid:  I  am  very  agile.  At  Gao, 
when  I  was  just  a  child,  I  used  to  climb  almost  as 
high  as  this  in  the  gimi  trees  to  take  the  little  toucans 
out  of  their  nests.     It  is  even  easier  to  climb  down." 

"And  when  we  are  down,  how  will  we  get  out? 
Do  you  know  the  way  through  the  barriers?" 

"No  one  knows  the  way  through  the  barriers,"  she 
said,  "except  Cegheir-ben-Cheikh,  and  perhaps  An- 
tinea." 

"Then?" 

"There  are  the  camels  of  Cegheir-ben-Cheikh, 
those  which  he  uses  on  his  forays.  I  untethered  the 
strongest  one  and  led  him  out,  just  below  us,  and 
gave  him  lots  of  hay  so  that  he  will  not  make  a  sound 
and  will  be  well  fed  when  we  start." 

"But  ..."   I  still  protested. 

She  stamped  her  foot. 

"But  what?  Stay  if  you  wish,  if  you  are  afraid. 
I  am  going.  I  want  to  see  Gao  once  again,  Gao 
with  its  blue  gum-trees  and  its  green  water." 

I  felt  myself  blushing. 

"I  will  go,  Tanit-Zerga.  I  would  rather  die  of 
thirst  in  the  midst  of  the  desert  than  stay  here.  Let 
us  start." 

"Tut!"  she  said.    "Not  yet." 

She  showed  me  that  the  dizzy  descent  was  in  bril- 
liant moonlight. 

"Not  yet.     We  must  wait.     They  would  see  us. 


270  ATLANTIDA 

In  an  hour,  the  moon  will  have  circled  behind  the 
mountain.    That  will  be  the  time." 

She  sat  silent,  her  haik  wrapped  completely  about 
her  dark  little  figure.    Was  she  praying?    Perhaps. 

Suddenly  I  no  longer  saw  her.  Darkness  had 
crept  in  the  window.    The  moon  had  turned. 

Tanit-Zerga's  hand  was  on  my  arm.  She  drew 
me  toward  the  abyss.     I  tried  not  to  tremble. 

Everything  below  us  was  in  shadow.  In  a  low, 
firm  voice,  Tanit-Zerga  began  to  speak: 

"Everything  is  ready.  I  have  twisted  the  rope 
about  the  pillar.  Here  is  the  slip-knot.  Put  it  under 
your  arms.  Take  this  cushion.  Keep  it  pressed 
against  your  hurt  shoulder.  ...  A  leather  cushion. 
...  It  is  tightly  stuffed.  Keep  face  to  the  wall.  It 
will  protect  you  against  the  bumping  and  scrap- 
ing." 

I  was  now  master  of  myself,  very  calm.  I  sat 
down  on  the  sill  of  the  window,  my  feet  in  the 
void.  A  breath  of  cool  air  from  the  peaks  refreshed 
me. 

I  felt  little  Tanit-Zerga's  hand  in  my  vest  pocket. 

"Here  is  a  box.  I  must  know  when  you  are  down, 
so  I  can  follow.  You  will  open  the  box.  There  are 
fire-flies  in  it;  I  shall  see  them  and  follow  you." 

She  held  my  hand  a  moment. 

"Now  go,"  she  murmured. 

I  went. 

I  remember  only  one  thing  about  that  descent:  I 


THE     FIRE -FLIES  271 

was  overcome  with  vexation  when  the  rope  stopped 
and  I  found  myself,  feet  danghng,  against  the  per- 
fectly smooth  wall. 

"What  is  the  little  fool  waiting  for?"  I  said  to 
myself.  "I  have  been  hung  here  for  a  quarter  of  an 
hour.  Ah  ...  at  last!  Oh,  here  I  am  stopped 
again."  Once  or  twice  I  thought  I  was  reaching  the 
ground,  but  it  was  only  a  projection  from  the  rock. 
I  had  to  give  a  quick  shove  with  my  foot.  .  .  . 
Then,  suddenly,  I  found  myself  seated  on  the  ground. 
I  stretched  out  my  hands.  Bushes.  ...  A  thorn 
pricked  my  finger.     I  was  down. 

Immediately  I  began  to  get  nervous  again. 

I  pulled  out  the  cushion  and  slipped  off  the  noose. 
With  my  good  hand,  I  pulled  the  rope,  holding  it 
out  five  or  six  feet  from  the  face  of  the  mountain, 
and  put  my  foot  on  it. 

Then  I  took  the  little  cardboard  box  from  my 
pocket  and  opened  it. 

One  after  the  other,  three  little  luminous  circles 
rose  in  the  inky  night.  I  saw  them  rise  higher  and 
higher  against  the  rocky  wall.  Their  pale  rose 
aureols  gleamed  faintly.  Then,  one  by  one,  they 
turned,  disappeared. 

"You  are  tired,  Sidi  Lieutenant.  Let  me  hold 
the  rope." 

Cegheir-ben-Cheikh  rose  up  at  my  side. 

I  looked  at  his  tall  black  silhouette.     I  shuddered. 


272  ATLANTIDA 

but  I  did  not  let  go  of  the  rope  on  which  I  began  to 
feel  distant  jerks. 

"Give  It  to  me,"  he  repeated  with  authority. 
And  he  took  it  from  my  hands. 
I  don't  know  what  possessed  me  then.  I  was 
standing  beside  that  great  dark  phantom.  And  I 
ask  you,  what  could  I,  with  a  dislocated  shoulder,  do 
against  that  man  whose  agile  strength  I  already 
knew?  What  was  there  to  do?  I  saw  him  but- 
tressed against  the  wall,  holding  the  rope  with  both 
hands,  with  both  feet,  with  all  his  body,  much  bet- 
ter than  I  had  been  able  to  do. 

A  rustling  above  our  heads.  A  little  shadowy 
form. 

"There,"  said  Cegheir-ben-CheIkh,  seizing  the 
little  shadow  in  his  powerful  arms  and  placing  her 
on  the  ground,  while  the  rope,  let  slack,  slapped 
back  against  the  rock. 

Tanit-Zerga  recognized  the  Targa  and  groaned. 

He  put  his  hand  roughly  over  her  mouth. 

"Shut  up,  camel  thief,  wretched  little  fly." 

He  seized  her  arm.    Then  he  turned  to  me. 

"Come,"  he  said  In  an  imperious  tone. 

I  obeyed.  During  our  short  walk,  I  heard  Tanit- 
Zerga's  teeth  chattering  with  terror. 

We  reached  a  little  cave. 

"Go  In,"  said  the  Targa. 

He  lighted  a  torch.  The  red  light  showed  a  su- 
perb mehari  peacefully  chewing  his  cud. 


THE     FT  RK- FLIES  273 

"  [he  little  one  Is  not  stupid,"  said  Cegheir-ben- 
Cheikh,  pointing  to  the  animal.  "She  knows  enough 
to  pick  out  the  best  and  the  strongest.  But  she  is 
rattle-brained." 

He  held  the  torch  nearer  the  camel. 

"She  is  rattle-brained,"  he  continued.  "She  only 
saddled  him.  No  water,  no  food.  At  this  hour, 
three  days  from  now,  all  three  of  you  would  have 
been  dead  on  the  road,  and  on  what  a  road!" 

Tanlt-Zerga's  teeth  no  longer  chattered.  She  was 
looking  at  the  Targa  with  a  mixture  of  terror  and 
hope. 

"Come  here,  Sidi  Lieutenant,"  said  Cegheir-ben- 
Cheikh,  "so  that  I  can  explain  to  you." 

When  I  was  beside  him,  he  said: 

"On  each  side  there  is  a  skin  of  water.  Make  that 
water  last  as  long  as  possible,  for  you  are  going  to 
cross  a  terrible  country.  It  may  be  that  you  will 
not  find  a  well  for  three  hundred  miles. 

"There,"  he  went  on,  "in  the  saddle  bags,  are 
cans  of  preserved  meat.  Not  many,  for  water  is 
much  more  precious.  Here  also  is  a  carbine,  your 
carbine,  sidi.  Try  not  to  use  it  except  to  shoot  ante- 
lopes.   And  there  is  this." 

He  spread  out  a  roll  of  paper.  I  saw  his  in- 
scrutible  face  bent  over  it;  his  eyes  were  smiling; 
he  looked  at  me. 

"Once  out  of  the  enclosures,  what  way  did  you 
plan  to  go?"  he  asked. 


274  ATLANTIDA 

"Toward  Ideles,  to  retake  the  route  where  you 
met  the  Captain  and  me,"  I  said. 

Cegheir-ben  Cheikh  shook  his  head. 

"I  thought  as  much,"  he  murmured. 

Then  he  added  coldly: 

"Before  sunset  to-morrow,  you  and  the  little  one 
would  have  been  caught  and  massacred," 

"Toward  the  north  is  Ahaggar,"  he  continued, 
"and  all  Ahaggar  is  under  the  control  of  Antinea. 
You  must  go  south." 

"Then  we  shall  go  south." 

"By  what  route?" 

"Why,  by  Silet  and  Timassao." 

The  Targa  again  shook  his  head. 

"They  will  look  for  you  on  that  road  also,"  he 
said.  "It  is  a  good  road,  the  road  with  the  wells. 
They  know  that  you  are  familiar  with  it.  The  Tua- 
reg would  not  fail  to  wait  at  the  wells." 

"Well,  then?" 

"Well,"  said  Cegheir-ben-Cheikh,  "you  must  not 
rejoin  the  road  from  Timassao  to  Timbuctoo  until 
you  are  four  hundred  miles  from  here  toward  Ifer- 
ouane,  or  better  still,  at  the  spring  of  Telemsi.  That 
Is  the  boundary  between  the  Tuareg  of  Ahaggar  and 
the  Awellimiden  Tuareg." 

The  little  voice  of  Tanit-Zerga  broke 
in: 

"It  was  the  Awellimiden  Tuareg  who  massacred 
my  people  and  carried  me  into  slavery.     I  do  not 


THE     F  I  R  E  -  F  L  I  E  S  275 

want  to   pass   through   the   country   of   the    Awelli- 
miden." 

"Be  still,  miserable  little  fly,"  said  Ccghcir-ben- 
Cheikh. 

Then,  addressing  me,  he  continued: 

"I  have  said  what  I  have  said.  The  little  one  Is 
not  wrong.  The  Awellimiden  are  a  savage  people. 
But  they  are  afraid  of  the  French.  Many  of  them 
trade  with  the  stations  north  of  the  Niger.  On  the 
other  hand,  they  are  at  war  with  the  people  of 
Ahaggar,  who  will  not  follow  you  into  their  coun- 
try. What  I  have  said,  is  said.  You  must  rejoin 
the  Timbuctoo  road  near  where  it  enters  the  bor- 
ders of  the  Awellimiden.  Their  country  is  wooded 
and  rich  in  springs.  If  you  reach  the  springs  at 
Telemsi,  you  will  finish  your  journey  beneath  a  can- 
opy of  blossoming  mimosa.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  road  from  here  to  Telemsi  is  shorter  than  by 
way  of  Timissao.     It  is  quite  straight." 

"Yes,  it  is  direct,"  I  said,  "but,  in  following  it, 
you  have  to  cross  the  Tanezruft." 

Cegheir-ben-Cheikh  waved  his  hand  impatiently. 

"Cegheir-ben-Cheikh  knows  that,"  he  said.  "He 
knows  what  the  Tanezruft  is.  He  who  has  traveled 
over  all  the  Sahara  knows  that  he  would  shudder  at 
crossing  the  Tanezruft  and  the  Tasili  from  the  south. 
He  knows  that  the  camels  that  wander  into  that 
country  either  die  or  become  wild,  for  no  one  will 
risk  his  life  to  go  look  for  them.     It  is  the  terror 


276  ATLANTIDA 

that  hangs  over  that  region  that  may  save  you.  For 
you  have  to  choose :  you  must  run  the  risk  of  dying 
of  thirst  on  the  tracks  of  the  Tanezruft  or  have 
your  throat  cut  along  some  other  route." 

"You  can  stay  here,"  he  added. 

"My  choice  is  made,  Cegheir-ben-Cheikh,"  I  an- 
nounced. 

"Good!"  he  replied,  again  opening  out  the  roll  of 
paper.  "This  trail  begins  at  the  second  barrier  of 
earth,  to  which  I  will  lead  you.  It  ends  at  Iferouane. 
I  have  marked  the  wells,  but  do  not  trust  to  them 
too  much,  for  many  of  them  are  dry.  Be  careful 
not  to  stray  from  the  route.  If  you  lose  It,  it  Is 
death.  .  .  .  Now  mount  the  camel  with  the  little 
one.    Two  make  less  noise  than  four." 

We  went  a  long  way  in  silence.  Cegheir-ben- 
Cheikh  walked  ahead  and  his  camel  followed  meekly. 
We  crossed,  first,  a  dark  passage,  then,  a  deep  gorge, 
then  another  passage.  .  .  .  The  entrance  to  each 
was  hidden  by  a  thick  tangle  of  rocks  and  briars. 

Suddenly  a  burning  breath  touched  our  faces.  A 
dull  reddish  light  filtered  in  through  the  end  of  the 
passage.     The  desert  lay  before  us. 

Cegheir-ben-Cheikh  had  stopped. 

"Get  down,"  he  said. 

A  spring  gurgled  out  of  the  rock.  The  Targa 
went  to  It  and  filled  a  copper  cup  with  the  water. 

"Drink,"  he  said,  holding  It  out  to  each  of  us  In 
turn. 


THE     F  I  R  E  -  F  L  I  E  S  277 

We  obeyed. 

"Drink  again,"  he  ordered.  "You  will  save  just 
so  much  of  the  contents  of  your  water  skins.  Now 
try  not  to  be  thirsty  before  sunset." 

He  looked  over  the  saddle  girths. 

"That's  all  right,"  he  murmured.  "\ow  go.  In 
two  hours  the  dawn  will  be  here.  You  must  be  out 
of  sight." 

I  was  filled  with  emotion  at  this  last  moment;  I 
went  to  the  Targa  and  took  his  hand. 

"Cegheir-ben-Cheikh,"  I  asked  in  a  low  voice, 
"why  are  you  doing  this?" 

He  stepped  back  and  I  saw  his  dark  eyes  gleam. 

"Why?"  he  said. 

"Yes,  why?" 

He  replied  with  dignity: 

"The  Prophet  permits  every  just  man,  once  in  his 
lifetime,  to  let  pity  take  the  place  of  duty.  Cegheir- 
ben-Cheikh  is  turning  this  permission  to  the  advan- 
tage of  one  who  saved  his  life." 

"And  you  are  not  afraid,"  I  asked,  "that  I  will 
disclose  the  secret  of  Antinea  if  I  return  among 
Frenchmen?" 

He  shook  his  head. 

"I  am  not  afraid  of  that,"  he  said,  and  his  voice 
was  full  of  irony.  "It  is  not  to  your  interest  that 
Frenchmen  should  know  how  the  Captain  met  his 
death." 

I  was  horrified  at  this  logical  reply. 


278  ATLANTIDA 

"Perhaps  I  am  doing  wrong,"  the  Targa  went  on, 
"in  not  killing  the  little  one.  .  ,  .  But  she 
loves  you.  She  will  not  talk.  Now  go.  Day  is 
coming." 

I  tried  to  press  the  hand  of  this  strange  rescuer, 
but  he  again  drew  back, 

"Do  not  thank  me.  What  I  am  doing,  I  do  to 
acquire  merit  in  the  ey«s  of  God.  You  may  be  sure 
that  I  shall  never  do  it  again  neither  for  you  nor 
for  anyone  else." 

And,  as  I  made  a  gesture  to  reassure  him  on  that 
point,  "Do  not  protest,"  he  said  in  a  tone  the  mock- 
ery of  which  still  sounds  in  my  ears.  "Do  not  pro- 
test. What  I  am  doing  is  of  value  to  me,  but  not  to 
you." 

I  looked  at  him  uncomprehendingly. 

"Not  to  you,  Sidi  Lieutenant,  not  to  you,"  his 
grave  voice  continued.  "For  you  will  come  back; 
and  when  that  day  comes,  do  not  count  on  the  help 
of  Cegheir-ben-Cheikh." 

"I  will  come  back?"  I  asked,  shuddering. 

"You  will  come  back,"  the  Targa  replied. 

He  was  standing  erect,  a  black  statue  against  the 
wall  of  gray  rock. 

"You  will  come  back,"  he  repeated  with  emphasis. 
"You  are  fleeing  now,  but  you  are  mistaken  if  you 
think  that  you  will  look  at  the  world  with  the  same 
eyes  as  before.  Henceforth,  one  idea  will  follow 
you  everywhere  you  go;  and  in  one  year,  five,  per- 


THE     F  I  R  E  -  F  L  1  E  S  279 

haps  ten  years,  you  will  pass  again  through  the  cor- 
ridor through  which  yoti  have  just  come." 

"Be  still,  Cegheir-ben-Chekih,"  said  the  trembling 
voice  of  Tanit-Zerga. 

"Be  still  yourself,  miserable  little  fly,"  said  Ceg- 
heir-ben-Cheikh. 

He  sneered. 

"The  little  one  is  afraid  because  she  knows  that  I 
tell  the  truth.  She  knows  the  story  of  Lieutenant 
Ghiberti." 

"Lieutenant  Ghiberti?"  I  said,  the  sweat  stand- 
ing out  on  my  forehead. 

"He  was  an  Italian  officer  whom  I  met  between 
Rhat  and  Rhadames  eight  years  ago.  He  did  not 
believe  that  love  of  Antinea  could  make  him  forget 
all  else  that  life  contained.  He  tried  to  escape, 
and  he  succeeded.  I  do  not  know  how,  for  I  did 
not  help  him.  He  went  back  to  his  country.  But 
hear  what  happened:  two  years  later,  to  the  very 
day,  when  I  was  leaving  the  look-out,  I  discovered 
a  miserable  tattered  creature,  half  dead  from  hun- 
ger and  fatigue,  searching  in  vain  for  the  entrance 
to  the  northern  barrier.  It  w^as  Lieutenant  Ghi- 
berti, come  back.  He  fills  niche  Number  39  in  the 
red  marble  hall." 

The  Targa  smiled  slightly. 

"That  is  the  story  of  Lieutenant  Ghiberti  which 
you  wished  to  hear.  But  enough  of  this.  Mount 
your  camel." 


28o  ATLANTIDA 

I  obeyed  without  saying  a  word.  Tanlt-Zerga, 
seated  behind  me,  put  her  little  arms  around  me. 
Ceghelr-ben-CheIkh  was  still  holding  the  bridle. 

"One  word  more,"  he  said,  pointing  to  a  black 
spot  against  the  violet  sky  of  the  southern  horizon. 
"You  see  the  goiir  there;  that  is  your  way.  It  is 
eighteen  miles  from  here.  You  should  reach  it  by 
sunrise.  Then  consult  your  map.  The  next  point 
Is  marked.  If  you  do  not  stray  from  the  line,  you 
should  be  at  the  springs  of  Telemsl  in  eight  days." 

The  camel's  neck  was  stretched  toward  the  dark 
wind  coming  from  the  south. 

The  Targa  released  the  bridle  with  a  sweep  of 
his  hand. 

"Now,  go." 

"Thank  you,"  I  called  to  him,  turning  back  in  the 
saddle.  "Thank  you,  Ceghelr-ben-Cheikh,  and  fare- 
well." 

I  heard  his  voice  replying  in  the  distance: 

"Au  revoir,  Lieutenant  de  Saint  Avit." 


CHAPTER  XIX 


THE   TANEZRUFT 


During  the  first  hour  of  our  filght,  the  great 
mehari  of  Cegheir-ben-Cheikh  carried  us  at  a  mad 
pace.  We  covered  at  least  five  leagues.  With  fixed 
eyes,  I  guided  the  beast  toward  the  goiir  which  the 
Farga  had  pointed  out,  its  ridge  becoming  higher 
and  higher  against  the  paling  sky. 

The  speed  caused  a  little  breeze  to  whistle  in  our 
ears.  Great  tufts  of  retem,  like  fleshless  skeletons, 
were  tossed  to  right  and  left. 

I  heard  the  voice  of  Tanlt-Zerga  whisper- 
ing: 

"Stop  the  camel." 

At  first  I  did  not  understand. 

"Stop  him,"  she  repeated. 

Her  hand  pulled  sharply  at  my  right  arm. 

I  obeyed.  The  camel  slackened  his  pace  with  very 
bad  grace. 

"Listen,"  she  said. 

At  first  I  heard  nothing.  Then  a  very  slight  noise, 
a  dry  rustling  behind  us. 

281 


282  ATLANTIDA 

"Stop  the  camel,"  Tanlt-Zerga  commanded.  "It 
is  not  worth  while  to  make  him  kneel." 

A  little  gray  creature  bounded  on  the  camel.  The 
mehari  set  out  again  at  his  best  speed. 

"Let  him  go,"  said  Tanit-Zerga.  "Gale  has 
jumped  on." 

I  felt  a  tuft  of  bristly  hair  under  my  arm.  The 
mongoose  had  followed  our  footsteps  and  rejoined 
us.  I  heard  the  quick  panting  of  the  brave  little  crea- 
ture becoming  gradually  slower  and  slower. 

"I  am  happy,"  murmured  Tanit-Zerga. 

Cegheir-ben-Cheikh  had  not  been  mistaken.  We 
reached  the  goiir  as  the  sun  rose.  I  looked  back. 
The  Atakor  was  nothing  more  than  a  monstrou-^, 
chaos  amid  the  night  mists  which  trailed  the  dawn. 
It  was  no  longer  possible  to  pick  out  from  among 
the  nameless  peaks,  the  one  on  which  Antinea  was 
still  weaving  her  passionate  plots. 

You  know  what  the  Tanezruft  is,  the  "plain  of 
plains,"  abandoned,  uninhabitable,  the  country  of 
hunger  and  thirst.  We  were  then  starting  on  the 
part  of  the  desert  which  Duveyrier  calls  the  Tasili 
of  the  south,  and  which  figures  on  the  maps  of  the 
Minister  of  Public  Works  under  this  attractive  title : 
"Rocky  plateau,  without  water,  without  vegetation, 
inhospitable  for  man  and  beast." 

Nothing,  unless  parts  of  the  Kalahari,  is  more 
frightful  than  this  rocky  desert.     Oh,  Cegheir-ben- 


THE     TANKZRUFT  283 

Cheikh  did  not  exaggerate  In  saying  that  no  one 
would  dream  of  following  us  into  that  count^)^ 

Great  patches  of  oblivion  still  refused  to  clear 
away.  Memories  chased  each  other  incoherently 
about  my  head.  A  sentence  came  back  to  me  text- 
ually:  "It  seemed  to  Dick  that  he  had  never,  since 
the  beginning  of  original  darkness,  done  anything  at 
all  save  jolt  through  the  air."  I  gave  a  little  laugh. 
"In  the  last  few  hours,"  I  thought,  "I  have  been 
heaping  up  literary  situations.  A  while  ago,  a  hun- 
dred feet  above  the  ground,  I  was  Fabrice  of  La 
Chartreuse  de  Parme  beside  his  Italian  dungeon. 
Now,  here  on  my  camel,  I  am  Dick  of  The  Light 
That  Failed,  crossing  the  desert  to  meet  his  com- 
panions in  arms."  I  chuckled  again;  then  shuddered. 
I  thought  of  the  preceding  night,  of  the  Orestes  of 
Androjnaque  who  agreed  to  sacrifice  Pyrrhus.  A 
literary  situation  indeed.   .   .   . 

Ceghelr-ben-Cheikh  had  reckoned  eight  days  to 
get  to  the  wooded  country  of  the  Awellimiden,  fore- 
runners of  the  grassy  steppes  of  the  Soudan.  He 
knew  well  the  worth  of  his  beast.  Tanlt-Zerga  had 
suddenly  given  him  a  name,  El  Mellen,  the  white 
one,  for  the  magnificent  mehari  had  an  almost  spot- 
less coat.  Once  he  went  two  days  without  eating, 
merely  picking  up  here  and  there  a  branch  of  an 
acacia  tree  whose  hideous  white  spines,  four  inches 
long,  filled  me  with  fear  for  our  friend's  oesophagus. 
The  wells  marked  out  by  Cegheir-ben-Chelkh  were 


284  ATLANTIDA 

indeed  at  the  indicated  spots,  but  we  found  nothing 
in  them  but  a  burning  yellow  mud.  It  was  enough 
for  the  camel,  enough  so  that  at  the  end  of  the  fifth 
day,  thanks  to  prodigious  self-control,  we  had  used 
up  only  one  of  our  two  water  skins.  Then  we  be- 
lieved ourselves  safe. 

Near  one  of  these  muddy  puddles,  I  succeeded  that 
day  in  shooting  down  a  little  straight-horned  desert 
gazelle.  Tanit-Zerga  skinned  the  beast  and  we  re- 
galed ourselves  with  a  delicious  haunch.  Meantime, 
little  Gale,  who  never  ceased  prying  about  the  cracks 
in  the  rocks  during  our  mid-day  halts  in  the  heat, 
discovered  an  ourane,  a  sand  crocodile,  five  feet  long, 
and  made  short  work  of  breaking  his  neck.  She  ate 
so  much  she  could  not  budge.  It  cost  us  a  pint  of 
water  to  help  her  digestion.  We  gave  it  with  good 
grace,  for  we  were  happy.  Tanit-Zerga  did  not  say 
so,  but  her  joy  at  knowing  that  I  was  thinking  no 
more  of  the  woman  in  the  gold  diadem  and  the 
emeralds  was  apparent.  And  really,  during  those 
days,  I  hardly  thought  of  her.  I  thought  only  of 
the  torrid  heat  to  be  avoided,  of  the  water  skins 
which,  if  you  wished  to  drink  fresh  water,  had  to  be 
left  for  an  hour  in  a  cleft  in  the  rocks;  of  the  intense 
joy  which  seized  you  when  you  raised  to  your  lips  a 
leather  goblet  brimming  with  that  life-saving  water. 
...  I  can  say  this  with  authority,  with  good  author- 
ity, indeed;  passion,  spiritual  or  physical,  is  a  thing 
for  those  who  have  eaten  and  drunk  and  rested. 


THE     TANEZRUFT  285 

It  was  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  The  fright- 
ful heat  was  slackening.  We  had  left  a  kind  of 
rocky  crevice  where  we  had  had  a  little  nap.  Seated 
on  a  huge  rock,  we  were  watching  the  reddening 
west. 

I  spread  out  the  roll  of  paper  on  which  Cegheir- 
ben-Cheikh  had  marked  the  stages  of  our  journey 
as  far  as  the  road  from  the  Soudan.  I  realized 
again  with  joy  that  his  itinerary  was  exact  and  that 
I  had  followed  it  scrupulously. 

"The  evening  of  the  day  after  to-morrow,"  I  said, 
"we  shall  be  setting  out  on  the  stage  which  will  take 
us,  by  the  next  dawn,  to  the  waters  at  Telemsi.  Once 
there,  we  shall  not  have  to  worry  any  more  about 
water." 

Tanit-Zerga's  eyes  danced  in  her  thin  face. 

"And  Gao?"  she  asked. 

"We  will  be  only  a  week  from  the  Niger.  And 
Cegheir-ben-Cheikh  said  that  at  Telemsi,  one  reached 
a  road  overhung  with  mimosa." 

"I  know  the  mimosa,"  she  said.  "They  are  the 
little  yellow  balls  that  melt  in  your  hand.  But  I  like 
the  caper  flowers  better.  You  will  come  with  me  to 
Gao.  My  father,  Sonni-Askia,  was  killed,  as  I  told 
you,  by  the  Awellimiden.  But  my  people  must  have 
rebuilt  the  villages.  They  are  used  to  that.  You 
will  see  how  you  will  be  received." 

"I  will  go,  Tanit-Zerga,  I  promise  you.  But  you 
also,  you  must  promise  me  .  .  ." 


286  ATLANTIDA 

"What?  Oh,  I  guess.  You  must  take  me  for 
a  little  fool  if  you  believe  me  capable  of  speaking 
of  things  which  might  make  trouble  for  my  friend." 

She  looked  at  me  as  she  spoke.  Privation  and 
great  fatigue  had  chiselled  the  brown  face  where  her 
great  eyes  shone.  .  .  .  Since  then,  I  have  had  time 
to  assemble  the  maps  and  compasses,  and  to  fix  for- 
ever the  spot  where,  for  the  first  time,  I  understood 
the  beauty  of  Tanlt-Zerga's  eyes. 

There  was  a  deep  silence  between  us.  It  was  she 
who  broke  It. 

"Night  Is  coming.  We  must  eat  so  as  to  leave  as 
soon  as  possible." 

She  stood  up  and  went  toward  the  rocks. 

Almost  Immediately,  I  heard  her  calling  in  an  an- 
guished voice  that  sent  a  chill  through  me. 

"Come!    Oh,  come  see!" 

With  a  bound,  I  was  at  her  side. 

"The  camel,"  she  murmured.     "The  camel!" 

I  looked,  and  a  deadly  shudder  seized  me. 

Stretched  out  at  full  length,  on  the  other  side  of 
the  rocks,  his  pale  flanks  knotted  up  by  convulsive 
spasms.  El  Mellen  lay  in  anguish. 

I  need  not  say  that  we  rushed  to  him  In  feverish 
haste.  Of  what  El  Mellen  was  dying,  I  did  not 
know,  I  never  have  known.  All  the  mehara  are 
that  way.  They  are  at  once  the  most  enduring  and 
the  most  delicate  of  beasts.  They  will  travel  for 
six  months  across  the  most  frightful  deserts,  with 


THE     TANEZRUFT  287 

little  food,  without  water,  and  seem  only  the  better 
for  it.  Then,  one  day  when  nothing  is  the  matter, 
they  stretch  out  and  give  you  the  slip  with  discon- 
certing ease. 

When  Tanit-Zerga  and  I  saw  that  there  was  noth- 
ing more  to  do,  we  stood  there  without  a  word, 
watching  his  slackening  spasms.  When  he  breathed 
ills  last,  we  felt  that  our  life,  as  well  as  his,  had 
gone. 

It  was  Tanit-Zerga  who  spoke  first. 

"How  far  are  we  from  the  Soudan  road?"  she 
asked. 

"We  are  a  hundred  and  twenty  miles  from  the 
springs  of  Telemsi,"  I  replied.  "We  could  make 
thirty  miles  by  going  toward  Ifrouane,  but  the  wells 
are  not  marked  on  that  route." 

"Then  we  must  walk  toward  the  springs  of  Te- 
lemsi," she  said.  "A  hundred  and  twenty  miles,  that 
makes  seven  days?" 

"Seven  days  at  the  least,  Tanit-Zerga." 

"How  far  is  it  to  the  first  well?" 

"Thirty-five  miles." 

The  little  girl's  face  contracted  somewhat.  But 
she  braced  up  quickly. 

"We  must  set  out  at  once." 

"Set  out  on  foot,  Tanit-Zerga  !" 

She  stamped  her  foot.  I  marveled  to  see  her  so 
strong. 

"We  must  go,"  she  repeated.     "We  are  going  to 


288  ATLANTIDA 

eat  and  drink  and  make  Gale  eat  and  drink,  for  we 
cannot  carry  all  the  tins,  and  the  water  skin  is  so 
heavy  that  we  should  not  get  three  miles  if  we  tried 
to  carry  it.  We  will  put  a  little  water  in  one  of  the 
tins  after  emptying  it  through  a  little  hole.  That 
will  be  enough  for  to-night's  stage,  which  will  be 
eighteen  miles  without  water.  To-morrow  we  will 
set  out  for  another  eighteen  miles  and  we  will  reach 
the  wells  marked  on  the  paper  by  Cegheir-ben- 
Cheikh." 

"Oh,"  I  murmured  sadly,  "if  my  shoulder  were 
only  not  this  way,  I  could  carry  the  water  skin." 

"It  is  as  it  is,"  said  Tanit-Zerga. 

"You  will  take  your  carbine  and  two  tins  of  meat. 
I  shall  take  two  more  and  the  one  filled  with  water. 
Come.  We  must  leave  in  an  hour  if  we  wish  to 
cover  the  eighteen  miles.  You  know  that  when  the 
sun  is  up,  the  rocks  are  so  hot  we  cannot  walk." 

I  leave  you  to  imagine  in  what  sad  silence  we 
passed  that  hour  which  we  had  begun  so  happily  and 
confidently.  Without  the  little  girl,  I  believe  I 
should  have  seated  myself  upon  a  rock  and  waited. 
Gale  only  was  happy. 

"We  must  not  let  her  eat  too  much,"  said  Tanit- 
Zerga.  "She  would  not  be  able  to  follow  us.  And 
to-morrow  she  must  work.  If  she  catches  another 
ourane,  it  will  be  for  us." 

You  have  walked  in  the  desert.     You  know  how 


THE     TANEZRUFT  289 

terrible  the  first  h£)urs  of  tlic  night  arc.  When  the 
moon  comes  up,  huge  and  yellow,  a  sharp  dust  seems 
to  rise  in  suffocating  clouds.  You  move  your  jaws 
mechanically  as  if  to  crush  the  dust  that  finds  its  way 
into  your  throat  like  fire.  Then  usually  a  kind  of 
lassitude,  of  drowsiness,  follows.  You  walk  without 
thinking.  You  forget  where  you  are  walking.  You 
remember  only  when  you  stumble.  Of  course  you 
stumble  often.  But  anyway  it  is  bearable.  "The 
night  is  ending,"  you  say,  "and  with  it  the  march. 
All  in  all,  I  am  less  tired  than  at  the  beginning." 
The  night  ends,  but  then  comes  the  most  terrible 
hour  of  all.  You  are  perishing  of  thirst  and  shak- 
ing with  cold.  All  the  fatigue  comes  back  at  once. 
The  horrible  breeze  which  precedes  the  dawn  is  no 
comfort.  Quite  the  contrary.  Every  time  you 
stumble,  you  say,  "The  next  misstep  will  be  the 
last." 

That  is  what  people  feel  and  say  even  when  they 
know  that  in  a  few  hours  they  will  have  a  good  rest 
with  food  and  water. 

I  was  suffering  terribly.  Every  step  jolted  my 
poor  shoulder.  At  one  time,  I  wanted  to  stop,  to 
sit  down.  Then  I  looked  at  Tanit-Zerga.  She  was 
walking  ahead  with  her  eyes  almost  closed.  Her 
expression  was  an  indefinable  one  of  mingled  suffer- 
ing and  determination.  I  closed  my  own  eyes  and 
went  on. 

Such  was  the  first  stage.    At  dawn  we  stopped  in 


290  ATLANTIDA 

a  hollow  in  the  rocks.  Soon  the  heat  forced  us  to 
rise  to  seek  a  deeper  one.  Tanit-Zerga  did  not 
eat.  Instead,  she  swallowed  a  little  of  her  half  can 
of  water.  She  lay  drowsy  all  day.  Gale  ran  about 
our  rock  giving  plaintive  little  cries. 

I  am  not  going  to  tell  you  about  the  second  march. 
It  was  more  horrible  than  anything  you  can  imagine. 
I  suffered  all  that  it  is  humanly  possible  to  suffer  in 
the  desert.  But  already  I  began  to  observe  with 
infinite  pity  that  my  man's  strength  was  outlasting  the 
nervous  force  of  my  little  companion.  The  poor 
child  walked  on  without  saying  a  word,  chewing 
feebly  one  corner  of  her  haik  which  she  had  drawn 
over  her  face.     Gale  followed. 

The  well  toward  which  we  were  dragging  our- 
selves was  Indicated  on  Cegheir-ben-Cheikh's  paper 
by  the  one  word  Tissarir'm.  Tissaririn  is  the 
plural  of  Tissarirt  and  means  "two  isolated 
trees." 

Day  was  dawning  when  finally  I  saw  the  two  trees, 
two  gum  trees.  Hardly  a  league  separated  us  from 
them.     I  gave  a  cry  of  joy. 

"Courage,  Tanit-Zerga,  there  is  the  well." 

She  drew  her  veil  aside  and  I  saw  the  poor 
anguished  little  face. 

"So  much  the  better,"  she  murmured,  "because 
otherwise  ..." 

She  could  not  even  finish  the  sentence. 

We  finished  the  last  half  mile  almost  at  a  run. 


THi;      rANEZRUFT  291 

We  already  saw  the  hole,  the  opening  of  the  well. 
Finally  we  reached  it. 
It  was  empty. 

It  is  a  strange  sensation  to  be  dying  of  thirst. 
At  first  the  suffering  is  terrible.  Then,  gradually,  it 
becomes  less.  You  become  partly  unconscious.  Ri- 
diculous little  things  about  your  life  occur  to  you, 
fly  about  you  like  mosquitoes.  I  began  to  remember 
my  history  composition  for  the  entrance  examination 
of  Saint-Cyr,  "The  Campaign  of  Marengo."  Ob- 
stinately I  repeated  to  myself,  "I  have  already  said 
that  the  battery  unmasked  by  Marmont  at  the  mo- 
ment of  Kellerman's  charge  included  eighteen  pieces. 
.  .  .  No,  I  remember  now,  it  was  only  twelve  pieces. 
I  am  sure  it  was  twelve  pieces." 

I  kept  on  repeating: 

"Twelve  pieces." 

Then  I  fell  into  a  sort  of  coma. 

I  was  recalled  from  it  by  feeling  a  red-hot  iron 
on  my  forehead.  I  opened  my  eyes.  Tanit-Zerga 
was  bending  over  me.  It  was  her  hand  which  burnt 
so. 

"Get  up,"  she  said.     "We  must  go  on." 

"Go  on,  Tanit-Zerga !  The  desert  is  on  fire. 
The  sun  is  at  the  zenith.     It  is  noon." 

■"We  must  go  on,"  she  repeated. 

Then  I  saw  that  she  was  delirious. 

She  was  standing  erect.     Her  haik  had  fallen  to 


292  ATLANTIDA 

the  ground  and  little  Gale,  rolled  up  In  a  ball,  was 
asleep  on  it. 

Bareheaded,  indifferent  to  the  frightful  sunlight, 
she  kept  repeating: 

"We  must  go  on." 

A  little  sense  came  back  to  me. 

"Cover  your  head,  Tanit-Zerga,  cover  your 
head." 

"Come,"  she  repeated.  "Let's  go.  Gao  is  over 
there,  not  far  away.  I  can  feel  it.  I  want  to  see 
Gao  again." 

I  made  her  sit  down  beside  me  in  the  shadow  of 
a  rock.  I  realized  that  all  strength  had  left  her. 
The  wave  of  pity  that  swept  over  me,  brought  back 
my  senses. 

"Gao  is  just  over  there,  isn't  it?"  she  asked. 

Her  gleaming  eyes  became  imploring. 

"Yes,  dear  little  girl.  Gao  is  there.  But  for 
God's  sake  lie  down.    The  sun  is  fearful." 

"Oh,  Gao,  Gao !"  she  repeated.  "I  know  very 
well  that  I  shall  see  Gao  again." 

She  sat  up.     Her  fiery  little  hands  gripped  mine. 

"Listen.  I  must  tell  you  so  you  can  understand 
how  I  know  I  shall  see  Gao  again." 

"Tanit-Zerga,  be  quiet,  my  little  girl,  be  quiet." 

"No,  I  must  tell  you.  A  long  time  ago,  on  the 
bank  of  the  river  where  there  is  water,  at  Gao, 
where  my  father  was  a  prince,  there  was  .  .  .  Well, 
one  day,  one  feast  day,  there  came  from  the  interior 


THE     TANEZRUFT  293 

of  the  country  an  old  magician,  dressed  in  skins  and 
feathers,  with  a  mask  and  a  pointed  head-dress,  with 
castanets,  and  two  serpents  in  a  bag.  On  the  village 
square,  where  all  our  people  formed  in  a  circle,  he 
danced  the  hoitssadilla.  I  was  in  the  first  row,  and 
because  I  had  a  necklace  of  pink  tourmaline,  he 
quickly  saw  that  I  was  the  daughter  of  a  chief.  So 
he  spoke  to  me  of  the  past,  of  the  great  Mandingue 
Empire  over  which  my  grandfathers  had  ruled,  of 
our  enemies,  the  fierce  Kountas,  of  everything,  and 
finally  he  said : 

"  'Have  no  fear,  little  girl.' 

"Then  he  said  again,  'Do  not  be  afraid.  Evil  days 
may  be  in  store  for  you,  but  what  does  that  matter? 
For  one  day  you  will  see  Gao  gleaming  on  the  hori- 
zon, no  longer  a  servile  Gao  reduced  to  the  rank  of  a 
little  negro  town,  but  the  splendid  Gao  of  other 
days,  the  great  capital  of  the  country  of  the  blacks, 
Gao  reborn,  with  its  mosque  of  seven  towers  and 
fourteen  cupolas  of  turquoise,  with  its  houses  with 
cool  courts,  its  fountains,  its  watered  gardens,  all 
blooming  with  great  red  and  white  flowers.  .  .  . 
That  will  be  for  you  the  hour  of  deliverance  and  of 
royalty.'  " 

Tanit-Zerga  was  standing  up.  All  about  us,  on 
our  heads,  the  sun  blazed  on  the  hamada,  burning  it 
white. 

Suddenly  the  child  stretched  out  her  arms.  She 
gave  a  terrible  cry. 


294  ATLANTIDA 

"Gao!    There  is  Gao!" 

I  looked  at  her. 

"Gao,"  she  repeated..  "Oh,  I  know  it  well! 
There  are  the  trees  and  the  fountains,  the  cupolas 
and  the  towers,  the  palm  trees,  the  great  red  and 
white  flowers.     Gao  .  .   ." 

Indeed,  along  the  shimmering  horizon  rose  a  fan- 
tastic city  with  mighty  buildings  that  towered,  tier 
on  tier,  until  they  formed  a  rainbow.  Wide-eyed, 
we  stood  and  watched  the  terrible  mirage  quiver 
feverishly  before  us. 

"Gao!"  I  cried.     "Gao!" 

And  almost  immediately  I  uttered  another  cry, 
of  sorrow  and  of  horror.  Tanit-Zerga's  little  hand 
relaxed  in  mine.  I  had  just  time  to  catch  the  child 
in  my  arms  and  hear  her  murmur  as  in  a  whisper: 

"And  then  that  will  be  the  day  of  deliverance. 
The  day  of  deliverance  and  of  royalty." 

Several  hours  later  I  took  the  knife  with  which 
we  had  skinned  the  desert  gazelle  and,  in  the  sand 
at  the  foot  of  the  rock  where  Tanit-Zerga  had  given 
up  her  spirit,  I  made  a  little  hollow  where  she  was 
to  rest. 

When  everything  was  ready,  I  wanted  to  look  once 
more  at  that  dear  little  face.  Courage  failed  me  for 
a  moment.  .  .  .  Then  I  quickly  drew  the  haik  over 
the  brown  face  and  laid  the  body  of  the  child  in  the 
hollow. 


THE     T  A  N  E  Z  R  U  F  T  295 

I  had  reckoned  without  Gale. 

The  eyes  of  the  mongoose  had  not  left  me  during 
the  whole  time  that  I  was  about  my  sad  duty.  When 
she  heard  the  first  handfuls  of  sand  fall  on  the  luiik, 
she  gave  a  sharp  cry.  I  looked  at  her  and  saw  her 
ready  to  spring,  her  eyes  darting  fire. 

"Gale!"  I  implored;  and  I  tried  to  stroke  her. 

She  bit  my  hand  and  then  leapt  into  the  grave  and 
began  to  dig,  throwing  the  sand  furiously  aside. 

I  tried  three  times  to  chase  her  away.  I  felt  that 
I  should  never  finish  my  task  and  that,  even  if  I  did, 
Gale  would  stay  there  and  disinter  the  body. 

My  carbine  lay  at  my  feet.  A  shot  drew  echoes 
from  the  immense  empty  desert.  A  moment  later. 
Gale  also  slept  her  last  sleep,  curled  up,  as  I  so  often 
had  seen  her,  against  the  neck  of  her  mistress. 

When  the  surface  showed  nothing  more  than  a 
little  mound  of  trampled  sand,  I  rose  staggering  and 
started  off  aimlessly  into  the  desert,  toward  the 
south. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE    CIRCLE    IS    COMPLETE 

At  the  foot  of  the  valley  of  the  Mia,  at  the 
place  where  the  jackal  had  cried  the  night  Saint- 
Avit  told  me  he  had  killed  Morhange,  another  jackal, 
or  perhaps  the  same  one,  howled  again. 

Immediately  I  had  a  feeling  that  this  night  would 
see  the  irremediable  fulfilled. 

We  were  seated  that  evening,  as  before,  on  the 
poor  veranda  improvised  outside  our  dining-room. 
The  floor  was  of  plaster,  the  balustrade  of  twisted 
branches;  four  posts  supported  a  thatched  roof. 

I  have  already  said  that  from  the  veranda  one 
could  look  far  out  over  the  desert.  As  he  finished 
speaking,  Saint-Avit  rose  and  stood  leaning  his  el- 
bows on  the  railing.     I  followed  him. 

"And  then  ..."   I  said. 

He  looked  at  me. 

"And  then  what?  Surely  you  know  what  all  the 
newspapers  told — how,  in  the  country  of  the  Awelli- 
miden,  I  was  found  dying  of  hunger  and  thirst  by 
an  expedition  under  the  command  of  Captain  Ay- 

296 


THE  CIRCLE  IS  COMPLETE         297 

mard,  and  taken  to  Timbuctoo.  I  was  delirious  for 
a  month  afterward.  I  have  never  known  what  I 
may  have  said  during  those  spells  of  burning  fever. 
You  may  be  sure  the  officers  of  the  Timbuctoo  Club 
did  not  feel  it  incumbent  upon  them  to  tell  me.  When 
I  told  them  of  my  adventures,  as  they  are  related 
in  the  report  of  the  Morhange — Saint-Avit  Expedi- 
tion, I  could  see  well  enough  from  the  cold  polite- 
ness with  which  they  received  my  explanations,  that 
the  official  version  which  I  gave  them  differed  at 
certain  points  from  the  fragments  which  had  escaped 
me  in  my  delirium, 

"They  did  not  press  the  matter.  It  remains  under- 
stood that  Captain  Morhange  died  from  a  sun- 
stroke and  that  I  buried  him  on  the  border  of  the 
Tarhit  watercourse,  three  marches  from  Timissao. 
Everybody  can  detect  that  there  are  things  missing 
in  my  story.  Doubtless  they  guess  at  some  myste- 
rious drama.  But  proofs  are  another  matter.  Be- 
cause of  the  impossibility  of  collecting  them,  they 
prefer  to  smother  what  could  only  become  a  silly 
scandal.  But  now  you  know  all  the  details  as  well 
as  I." 

"And — she?"  I  asked  timidly. 

He  smiled  triumphantly.  It  was  triumph  at  hav- 
ing led  me  to  think  no  longer  of  Morhange,  or  of 
his  crime,  the  triumph  of  feeling  that  he  had  suc- 
ceeded in  imbuing  me  with  his  own  madness. 

"Yes,"  he  said.     "She!     For  six  years   I   have 


298  ATLANTIDA 

learned  nothing  more  about  her.  But  I  see  her,  T 
talk  with  her.  I  am  thinking  now  how  I  shall  re- 
enter her  presence.  I  shall  throw  myself  at  her  feet 
and  say  simply,  'Forgive  me.  I  rebelled  against 
your  law.  I  did  not  know.  But  now  I  know;  and 
you  see  that,  like  Lieutenant  Ghlbertl,  I  have  come 
back.* 

"  'Family,  honor,  country,'  said  old  Le  Mesge, 
'you  will  forget  all  for  her.'  Old  Le  Mesge  is  a 
stupid  man,  but  he  speaks  from  experience.  He 
knows,  he  who  has  seen  broken  before  Antlnea 
the  wills  of  the  fifty  ghosts  in  the  red  marble 
hall. 

"And  now,  will  you,  in  your  turn,  ask  me  'What  is 
this  woman?'  Do  I  know  myself?  And  besides, 
what  difference  does  it  make?  What  does  her  past 
and  the  mystery  of  her  origin  matter  to  me;  what 
does  it  matter  whether  she  is  the  true  descendant  of 
the  god  of  the  sea  and  the  sublime  Lagides  or  the 
bastard  of  a  Polish  drunkard  and  a  harlot  of  the 
Marbeuf  quarter? 

"At  the  time  when  I  was  foolish  enough  to  be 
jealous  of  Morhange,  these  questions  might  have 
made  some  difference  to  the  ridiculous  self-esteem 
that  civilized  people  mix  up  with  passion.  But  I 
have  held  Antinea's  body  in  my  arms.  I  no  longer 
wish  to  know  any  other,  nor  if  the  fields  are  in 
blossom,  nor  what  will  become  of  the  human 
spirit.  .   .   . 


THE  CIRCLE  IS  COMPLETE        299 

"I  do  not  wish  to  know.  Or,  rather,  it  is  because 
I  have  too  exact  a  vision  of  that  future,  that  I  pre- 
tend to  destroy  myself  in  the  only  destiny  that  is 
worth  while:  a  nature  unfathomed  and  virgin,  a  mys- 
terious love. 

"J  nutnrc  unfathomed  and  vitv/in.  I  tnust  explain 
myself.  One  winter  day,  in  a  large  city  all  streaked 
with  the  soot  that  falls  from  the  black  chimneys  of 
factories  and  of  those  horrible  houses  in  the  suburbs, 
I  attended  a  funeral. 

"We  followed  the  hearse  in  the  mud.  The  church 
was  new,  damp  and  poor.  Aside  from  two  or  three 
people,  relatives  stnick  down  by  a  dull  sorrow,  every- 
one had  just  one  idea:  to  find  some  pretext  to  get 
away.  Those  who  went  as  far  as  the  cemetery  were 
those  who  did  not  find  an  excuse.  I  see  the  gray 
walls  and  the  cypresses,  those  trees  of  sun  and  shade, 
so  beautiful  in  the  country  of  southern  France  against 
the  low,  purple  hills.  I  see  the  horrible  undertaker's 
men  in  greasy  jackets  and  shiny  top'hats.  I  see  .  .  . 
No,  I'll  stop;  it's  too  horrible. 

"Near  the  wall,  in  a  remote  plot,  a  grave  had 
been  dug  in  frightful  yellow  pebbly  clay.  It  was 
there  that  they  left  the  dead  man  whose  name  I  no 
longer  remember. 

"While  they  were  lowering  the  casket,  I  looked  at 
my  hands,  those  hands  which  in  that  strangely 
lighted  country  had  pressed  the  hands  of  Antinea. 
A  great  pity  for  my  body  seized  me,  a  great  fear  of 


300  .      ATLANTIDA 

what  threatened  it  in  these  cities  of  mud.  *So,'  I  said 
to  myself,  *it  may  be  that  this  body,  this  dear  body, 
will  come  to  such  an  end!  No,  no,  my  body,  precious 
above  all  other  treasures,  I  swear  to  you  that  I  will 
spare  you  that  ignominy;  you  shall  not  rot  under  a 
registered  number  in  the  filth  of  a  suburban  ceme- 
tery. Your  brothers  in  love,  the  fifty  knights 
of  orichalch,  await  you,  mute  and  grave,  in 
the  red  marble  hall.  I  shall  take  you  back  to 
them.' 

"A  mysterious  love.  Shame  to  him  who  retails 
the  secrets  of  his  loves.  The  Sahara  lays  its  im- 
passable barrier  about  Antinea;  that  is  why  the  most 
unreasonable  requirements  of  this  woman  are,  in 
reality,  more  modest  and  chaste  than  your  marriage 
will  be,  with  its  vulgar  public  show,  the  bans,  the 
invitations,  the  announcements  telling  an  evil-minded 
and  joking  people  that  after  such  and  such  an  hour, 
on  such  and  such  a  day,  you  will  have  the  right  to 
violate  your  little  tupenny  virgin. 

"I  think  that  is  all  I  have  to  tell  you.  No,  there 
is  still  one  thing  more.  I  told  you  a  while  ago  about 
the  red  marble  hall.  South  of  Cherchell,  to  the 
west  of  the  Mazafran  river,  on  a  hill  which  in  the 
early  morning,  emerges  from  the  mists  of  the 
Mitidja,  there  is  a  mysterious  stone  pyramid.  The 
natives  call  it,  'The  Tomb  of  the  Christian.'  That 
is  where  the  body  of  Antinea's  ancestress,  that  Cleo- 
patra Selene,  daughter  of  Mark  Antony  and  Cleo- 


THE  CIRCLE  IS  COiMPLETE        301 

patra,  was  laid  to  rest.  Though  it  is  placed  in  the 
path  of  invasions,  this  tomb  has  kept  its  treasure. 
No  one  has  ever  been  able  to  discover  the  painted 
room  where  the  beautiful  body  reposes  in  a  glass 
casket.  All  that  the  ancestress  has  been  able  to  do, 
the  descendant  will  be  able  to  surpass  in  grim  mag- 
nificence. In  the  center  of  the  red  marble  hall,  on 
the  rock  whence  comes  the  plaint  of  the  gloomy  foun- 
tain, a  platform  is  reserved.  It  is  there,  on  an  ori- 
chalch  throne,  with  the  Egyptian  head-dress  and  the 
golden  serpent  on  her  brow  and  the  trident  of  Nep- 
time  in  her  hand,  that  the  marvelous  woman  I  have 
told  you  about  will  be  ensconced  on  that  day  when 
the  hundred  and  twenty  niches,  hollowed  out  in  a 
circle  around  her  throne,  shall  each  have  received 
Its  willing  prey. 

"When  I  left  Ahaggar,  you  remember  that  it  was 
niche  number  55  that  was  to  be  mine.  Since  then, 
I  have  never  stopped  calculating  and  I  conclude  that 
it  is  in  number  80  or  85  that  I  shall  repose.  But  any 
calculations  based  upon  so  fragile  a  foundation  as  a 
woman's  whim  may  be  erroneous.  That  is  why  I  am 
getting  more  and  more  nervous.  T  must  hurry,'  I 
tell  myself.     'I  must  hurry.' 

"I  must  hurry,"  I  repeated,  as  if  I  were  in  a 
dream. 

He  raiseci  his  head  with  an  indefinable  expression 
of  joy.  His  hand  trembled  with  happiness  when  he 
shook  mine. 


302  ATLANTIDA 

"You  will  see,"  he  repeated  excitedly,  "you  will 
see." 

Ecstatically,  he  took  me  in  his  arms  and  held  me 
there  a  long  moment. 

An  extraordinary  happiness  swept  over  both  of 
us,  while,  alternately  laughing  and  crying  like  chil- 
dren, we  kept  repeating: 

"We  must  hurry.    We  must  hurry." 

Suddenly  there  sprang  up  a  slight  breeze  that 
made  the  tufts  of  thatch  in  the  roof  rustle.  The  sky, 
pale  lilac,  grew  paler  still,  and,  suddenly,  a  great 
yellow  rent  tore  it  in  the  east.  Dawn  broke  over  , 
the  empty  desert.  From  within  the  stockade  came 
dull  noises,  a  bugle  call,  the  rattle  of  chains.  The 
post  was  waking  up. 

For  several  seconds  we  stood  there  silent,  our  eyes 
fixed  on  the  southern  route  by  which  one  reaches 
Temassinin,  Eguere  and  Ahaggar. 

A  rap  on  the  dining-room  door  behind  us  made  us 
start. 

"Come  in,"  said  Andre  de  Saint-Avit  in  a  voice 
which  had  become  suddenly  hard. 

The  Quartermaster,  Chatelain,  stood  before  us. 

"What  do  you  want  of  me  at  this  hour?"  Saint- 
Avit  asked  brusquely. 

The  non-com  stood  at  attention. 

"Excuse  me.  Captain.  But  a  native  was  discov- 
ered near  the  post,  last  night,  by  the  patrol.  He 
was  not  trying  to  hide.     As  soon  as  he  had  been 


THE  CIRCLE  IS  COMPLETE        303 

brought  here,  he  asked  to  be  led  before  the  com- 
manding officer.  It  was  midnight  and  I  didn't  want 
to  disturb  you." 

"Who  is  this  native?" 

"A  Targa,  Captain." 

"ATarga?    Go  get  him." 

Chatelain  stepped  aside.  Escorted  by  one  of  our 
native  soldiers,  the  man  stood  behind  him. 

They  came  out  on  the  terrace. 

The  new  arrival,  six  feet  tall,  was  indeed  a  Targa. 
The  light  of  dawn  fell  upon  his  blue-black,  cotton 
robes.     One  could  see  his  great  dark  eyes  flashing. 

When  he  was  opposite  my  companion,  I  saw  a 
tremor,  immediately  suppressed,  run  through  botli 
men. 

They  looked  at  each  other  for  an  instant  in  si- 
lence. 

Then,  bowing,  and  in  a  very  calm  voice,  the  Targa 
spoke : 

"Peace  be  with  you,  Lieutenant  de  Saint-Avit." 

In  the  same  calm  voice,  Andre  answered  him: 

"Peace  be  with  you,  Cegheir-ben-Chelkh." 

THE    END 


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